


where did the party go

by shuttermutt



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"…insofar as the two parties who want to wed should decide to do so before they have both reached the age of eighteen (section 1.ii) they will have a period of one year henceforth to decide if the marriage is fruitful and if not, they shall be allowed to part as if having not been married in the first place…"</i> Section 2 of the 'Romeo and Juliet law', passed into law in Britain and its territories, 1803</p><p> </p><p>  <i>They duck into a tattoo parlour that’s halfway between the city centre and Harry’s mum’s and Zayn gets two black lines carefully inked onto his left ring finger. He smiles up at Harry while it’s being done. </i></p><p>  <i>"It’ll last forever," he says. "Just like us." </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	where did the party go

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I want to say thank you to my amazing beta [taelor](http://beckoneveryone.tumblr.com/) for being the person who single-handedly walked me through finishing this. I genuinely would have given up a long ass time ago and dropped out of this because I was exhausted and had zero confidence in this thing. Without her, this would not exist, so send any and all thanks to her tbh.
> 
> Secondly, a huge fucking thank you to goose for coding all media bits you’ll see in this fic. I had no fucking clue how to do it and she offered and made it gorgeous and without her they would just not be what I wanted them to be. Also a huge shout out for doing this even though she ~~doesn’t care about 1D at all~~ cares about Zayn's face and that's about it which is perfectly acceptable. #bestfriends
> 
> I’ve been working on this fic in one form or another since July 2013. That’s a long fucking time. I had about 7k written until around November of this year, when I remembered I only had three months to fucking finish. The bulk of this was honestly written in the past 30 days or so, because I’m shit at time management and/or sticking to deadlines. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest now that this is done. This is, to date, the longest thing I’ve ever written in this fandom. It will probably stay the longest thing I’ll write because writing is hard and I hate it and I never want to do this again.
> 
> Many great thanks to [franhoegtraed](http://franhoegtraed.tumblr.com/) for claiming this fic to mix even though it was definitely lost in the desert with no hope of ever being chosen. You can find that lovely mix [here](http://www.mediafire.com/download/xms489bxbkulu36/A_Fanmix_For_'Where_Did_The_Party_Go&%2339;.zip). Please compliment her a lot.
> 
> In case anyone was curious, these are the songs I listened to on repeat for hours at a time while writing. This fic sprung from my imagination the first time I ever heard “American Wedding” by Frank Ocean, and I’ve not been able to get it off my mind since. Thanks, Frank.
> 
> American Wedding – Frank Ocean  
> Where Did the Party Go – Fall Out Boy  
> The Mighty Fall – Fall Out Boy  
> Elastic Heart (solo version) – SIA  
> Hide and Seek – Imogen Heap
> 
> Thank you for anyone who encouraged me in this. I really appreciate it. It's definitely a different kind of fic so please be kind with it! This is the longest author’s note I’ve written in my illustrious 1D fic career. I’ll stop now so you can read on. Please enjoy to your fullest. I basically died for this fucking thing. You can find me crying about absolutely nothing on [tumblr](http://shuttermutt.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **WARNING:** the tag about drunk sex refers only to a scene where characters are TIPSY while having sex, but enthusiastic consent is given before and during.

_”…insofar as the two parties who want to wed should decide to do so before they have both reached the age of eighteen (section 1.ii) they will have a period of one year henceforth to decide if the marriage is fruitful and if not, they shall be allowed to part as if having not been married in the first place…”_ Section 2 of the ‘Romeo and Juliet law’, passed into law in Britain and its territories, 1803

 

“We should get married.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. He’s comfortable curled up on Zayn’s chest, halfway to dozing if Zayn would just be quiet and let him, for once. Zayn only ever wants to nap on his own time, not on Harry’s. 

“No, I’m serious.” Zayn prods Harry’s cheek until he opens his eyes and actually looks at him. “We should go to the courthouse. Get married. What do you think?”

“Uh.” Harry feels something in his heart clench when he looks at Zayn. He’s got an open, earnest look on his face and he looks so _genuine_ that Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Really?”

Zayn nods, bites his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. “We’ve been together for like, nearly a year. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Why shouldn’t we get hitched?”

Harry doesn’t say _because your parents don’t even know about me_ or _I’m only seventeen_ or _isn’t this something we shouldn’t jump into_ because he’s stuck on _I don’t want to be with anyone else_ and it’s making it hard to focus. He smiles wide, cheeks hurting. “You want to marry me?” he asks.

“Duh,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “I love you, don’t I?”

It’s not been long enough since they started swapping _I love you_ s for it not to send pleasure zipping through Harry’s body. He thinks about that, and not the fact that this is probably a horrible idea. They’re young and still in school and who just jumps into something like this? But Zayn truly is his everything, has been for a long time, now. Harry knows that.

“I love you, too, you big goof,” Harry says softly. “Let’s do it.”

Zayn’s grin stretches over his face, then, and he leans in to press his smile against Harry’s.

-

They get married in the Registrar’s office, Ant and Danny as their witnesses. They’re all dressed in the best clothes they could find on such notice. Zayn writes something down on his palm in the few minutes they have before the registrar calls them in and when he’s given the go-ahead, he tells Harry how he loves him and will never let him go, they’re together for the rest of forever. Harry cries, even though he pretends he doesn’t, and they make out pretty heavily until the registrar clears her throat and waves them out. They don’t have rings, but he doesn’t care. They walk out of the office with a marriage certificate carefully put in an envelope to keep it from crumpling, Danny and Ant patting them both on the back and congratulating them. Zayn holds Harry’s hand so tight it feels like it might fall off. 

-

They duck into a tattoo parlour that’s halfway between the city centre and Harry’s mum’s and Zayn gets two black lines carefully inked onto his left ring finger. He smiles up at Harry while it’s being done. 

“It’ll last forever,” he says. “Just like us.” 

-

Harry’s mum cries when they get home and tell her. She smacks him around the head twice, _hard_ , then pulls him into her arms and sobs into his hair.

“I wish you’d have told me so I could have been there,” she says, sniffling and trying to regain her composure. She looks at the certificate Harry put on the counter and bursts into tears again. “My baby boy!”

Harry ducks his head. Zayn shows her his new ink.

“You didn’t get one as well, did you?” she asks, terribly worried.

“No, mum,” Harry says, grinning. “Zayn said he’d get me a ring, since he’s the one who asked.” He doesn’t tell her that Zayn had pressed kisses to Harry’s neck, behind his ear, whispered how he wanted the ink more than gold because gold could be lost. Ink would stay, forever, forever. His mum didn’t need to hear that.

“Oh, you two,” she says so softly, wrapping her arms around them both and crushing them in a hug. “I suppose I have two sons, now.”

Harry grabs hold of Zayn’s hand, the one without the ink, and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. He smiles and Zayn echoes it back. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

-

Zayn finds them a tiny studio that’s only ten minutes out from Manchester, where he’s reading for Art History. Harry enrols in college to start his A-levels and they both get jobs at night to pay for their flat. Harry’s mum helps by supplying second-hand furnishings and every few weeks Zayn’s mum comes over and cooks them meals from scratch that they can freeze and eat later, since she’s worried they’ll starve from not being able to feed themselves. 

Whenever she’s over, Harry makes up the futon, so she won’t question the fact that there’s only one proper bed. Zayn also hides the more incriminating photos and just hums along when she starts talking about her friend’s available daughters.

Harry should be more upset that Zayn still hasn’t told his mum they’re together, that they’re _married_ , but he understands. Zayn’s family is so traditional that, while he thinks his mum would be completely understanding, some of the extended family might not be, and Zayn doesn’t want to cause drama. Harry doesn’t, either, so he doesn’t bring it up.

While Zayn gets a job working at the campus radio, Harry finds a small bakery looking for a third shift baker. He used to work at one, when he lived with his mum, so it all comes pretty naturally to him. Having to go to work at night and work through ‘til the morning is hard, harder still when he has to go to school smelling of flour and yeast. He gets home and crashes into bed every day for six hours before he has to get up, do his coursework, and start it all over again.

He enjoys working at the bakery, since it's just him and a guy called Clive who is quiet and serious about his work, but laughs when Harry makes dumb jokes and is patient when he makes mistakes. It's a good job, pays enough that Harry can afford to pay the bills that aren't covered by Zayn's small monthly stipend from the University for working at the station.

Harry is always tired, has dark circles under his eyes from how hard he works and how little he sleeps, but it's fine. They're making it work, even if Harry barely sees Zayn between going to bed after school and when Zayn goes off to classes and work. They get a handful of minutes here and there throughout the days to see each other and eat together, but that’s really it. Harry can content himself with that.

-

Zayn comes home one night, catches Harry before he’s about to climb into bed. “Harry, Harry,” he says, voice rushed. When he crowds into Harry’s space, there’s alcohol on his breath. Harry wonders why he was out drinking when he could have been home with him, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What’s going on?” he mumbles, pressing two fingers to the skin beneath his left eye. It feels swollen and painful, from how long he’s been up.

“I got a gig at a club,” Zayn says, words rushed together. “They like what I’ve been mixing for the radio, want me to DJ for them three nights a week.” He sounds excited, like this is his dream come true, and Harry _knows_ that. Knows how much music means to Zayn. How much Zayn wants to break into the club scene with his mixes, and maybe even one day, his voice.

So Harry smiles, wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders tightly and presses congratulatory kisses to his cheek and neck. “Good job, babe. That’s great.”

It means less time together. More time where Zayn is away, working towards his dream. But Harry can do it. He can live with the distance. It’s only another three months before he takes his A-levels, and if he gets good enough results, he can go to Manchester as well, get some sort of assistance to help with the bills so he can work less and be with Zayn more.

Harry has a plan and he’s sticking to it. He’ll keep supporting Zayn for as long as it takes.

-

Harry hasn't seen Zayn in over a week and that's more than disturbing to him. He's used to seeing Zayn every day, even if it's just a passing hello or goodbye before they both go their separate ways. But he's been so busy at the bakery since one of the cashiers quit, and Zayn has been getting more gigs, so they've just been missing each other. Harry frowns down at his notebook, doodling instead of doing maths revisions. He misses his husband a little more keenly than usual.

There's a flyer on the cork board next to the fridge that has the time and date for Zayn's next gig at the club. He's actually being billed on it, instead of just featured, name big and bold at the top. People are actually starting to pay to go see _him_ instead of just being content to listen if they happen to be there on a night he plays. Harry is so proud of him, knows how much this means to Zayn. Maybe if Harry could make it, could actually see Zayn perform, it would make up for the time they haven't been able to see each other, lately.

It's a good plan, even if it takes a bit of wiggling from the bakery and Harry maybe skimping on revisions. He doesn't tell Zayn, wants to surprise him by showing up. Hopefully Zayn will like it, will be so surprised and happy to see Harry there.

Harry comes home on the night of the gig a little late, frustrated and exhausted. He was planning on taking a long nap between school and the club, but his teacher called him in for a meeting, something about his grades not improving the way she wanted them to, and it took more cajoling and promising to do better than Harry expected. 

He gets home and takes a shower, gets dressed and looks at the clock. He has an hour before he has to head out to the club, and he's so tired his eyes almost don't want to open every time he blinks. There's no way he'll enjoy it properly if he's so tired he can barely stand. An hour nap is better than no nap at all.

The bed is a welcome friend when he lies down, curled around Zayn's pillow so Harry can breathe him in while he sleeps. Harry's so tired that when he closes his eyes, he feels a little dizzy with it. But an hour will be fine, will more than make up for his exhaustion, so he can have fun and see Zayn perform.

He wakes up to the sound of someone cursing as they trip over the shoes by the door. Groggy, Harry looks at the clock on the bedside table, panic swamping him when he realises he's missed Zayn's entire gig. That means the person stumbling by the futon is Zayn. Fuck.

Zayn makes his way to the bed, stripping clothing as he goes. Harry rolls over and out of his spot, letting him have his pillow.

"You look nice," Zayn says. Harry forgot to get under the covers for his nap, and he's wearing his club outfit still. "Did you go out tonight?"

"I was going to come see your set but I fell asleep," Harry says, voice still cracked from sleep.

Zayn looks down at him, silent, for a few moments. There's a look on his face that Harry can't really read, especially with how sleep befuddled his brain is. "That's a shame," Zayn says. "It was a good night." He crawls into bed and turns so his back is facing Harry and Harry wonders if he shouldn't have told him the truth at all.

-

There's a big red circle around the 14th on the calendar thumb tacked to the wall and Harry looks at it every time he comes home. Maybe it's silly to celebrate the anniversary of when they started going out, now that they're married and have a _real_ anniversary, but it's something that makes them both happy, and hopefully will break whatever tension they've had between them for the past few weeks.

Harry has it all planned out. He's got the night off of work with Mary's blessing, and he's been slowly stockpiling the ingredients for Zayn's favourite foods for days, now. He probably shouldn't have spent as much money as he has, but they need this, and Harry doesn't mind giving up his portion for something that'll make Zayn smile.

He knows Zayn has the day off, knows Zayn knows what the day is, since he's the one who circled the date while Harry held his hand when they first moved in. Zayn told him he would come home from the station with enough time for them to have the night to themselves.

So Harry spends hours preparing and cooking and making the flat look a bit more romantic. He's got a load of candles, and sheer red scarves to put over the lights so the room gets a warm red glow. The candles smell good and the food actually smells great, and Harry has dressed up their table to look fancy, like in a restaurant. He lights the two candles on the table, pours both glasses full of wine, and serves out the food. Zayn should be coming through the door any minute, now. Everything looks perfect.

Harry sits at the table for thirty minutes before he actually starts to pick at his food. It doesn't taste as good cold, but it's still probably his finest work, seeing how he doesn't actually cook that much anymore. The spices are balanced and the rice is done right. The wine actually tastes pretty good, seeing how he bought it from the bargain bin at the sketchy off license down the road that never cards.

The candles on the table, fancy white ones that don't give off any smell and are really just for ambiance, are half-melted when Harry finally calls Zayn. He doesn't pick up, which Harry was sort of expecting, so Harry doesn't leave him a message. There's no point. Harry sits in his chair for a long time, moving his spoon through the leftover sauce on his plate, trying not to let himself cry because that's pathetic. Sure, Zayn knew what tonight was, and yeah, he'd said he would be there, but crying won't help anything. It won't make him come home any sooner.

Harry finally gives up at around eleven, picks up Zayn's plate and covers it in cling wrap before putting it in the microwave. The rest of the food on the stove goes into plastic containers for the fridge. Harry pours Zayn's glass down the drain and sticks the bottle in the fridge as well. He's never been much of a red wine drinker, so Zayn can finish it off if he wants.

He walks around the flat and blows out the candles, takes down the red scarves and moves everything back to how it usually is. When he crawls into bed, clad in his most comfortable flannel pyjamas, he faces the wall and doesn't let himself stay awake to listen for Zayn's return.

-

Harry doesn’t sleep enough and he certainly doesn’t eat enough. The roundness that used to cling to his cheeks and belly and thighs seems to melt off as the weeks pass. He hasn’t seen Zayn for a proper amount of time that he’s only slightly surprised when he’s getting ready for work and sees a new smear of ink across his hip. Harry would stop to see what it is, but he has to get to work in fifteen and he just doesn’t have the time.

It’s not long until he takes his exams, and Mary, the owner of the bakery, has been talking about seeing if she can snatch Harry for more hours during the summer when he’s not in school, get him learning how to do more than just roll out dough.

Harry is so tired that sometimes he just sits on the bed and cries, but he always stops himself quickly enough. He doesn’t have the time for self-pity, not when the hardest part is going to be over soon, and they’ll have all the time in the world for one another. They don’t see enough of each other for Harry to know if Zayn is feeling the way he is, but he has to assume so. Zayn loves him. He’s said so, has breathed it into Harry’s hair, has traced it along his skin. They’re in this together.

-

Zayn wakes Harry up in the middle of the day during one of Harry's rare true days off. He doesn't have to go to the bakery, there are no classes, and he has no studying to do. Harry had planned on just sleeping until he had to get up for work or class. It's long over-due.

But Zayn is shaking him awake, whispering his name and petting at his face, pushing the sweaty strands of his hair away from his eyes. "Babe, get up. C'mon, I've got a surprise for you."

Harry hadn't mentioned the missed anniversary dinner to him and Zayn hadn't offered any explanation in return. They've been sort of tense and silent around one another and Harry wonders if this is Zayn's way of making up for it.

"'m up," he mumbles, rubbing his fist against his eye. He looks at Zayn, at the way he's grinning and looking properly excited. Harry hasn't seen him look so up-beat in ages. "What's the surprise?"

"You have to get dressed, then I'll take you there."

Harry sits up and watches as Zayn goes back to the living area, tapping on his phone to someone. He's not sure he wants to go somewhere, especially since he's still so tired and the bed is so warm and comfortable. But he's not going to pass up the chance to spend some actual time with Zayn. Not after the past few months they've been having.

He gets dressed quickly, actually curious now that he's more awake. Zayn takes his hand once he's done, leads him out of their flat and down more streets than Harry cares for. They wind up at a park that Harry's never seen. It looks a bit abandoned, grass overgrown and no children playing anywhere.

"Zayn, what are we doing here?" Harry asks, looking around. He spots the red and white checked blanket before Zayn can say anything and stares at it, confused.

Zayn pulls him to the blanket and sprawls down on it, pulling Harry down on top of him. Harry curls up immediately, hands fisting in Zayn's shirt to anchor himself. "Haven't really seen much of each other lately, have we?" Zayn asks. His breath ruffles Harry's curls. "Thought we could spend some of the afternoon here, before I have to go to work. It's nice out and no one comes around here."

Harry rolls off of Zayn and onto his back and looks up at the blue sky above them. There are a few clouds, but nothing promising rain. It actually is a nice day out. Zayn's pinkie brushes Harry's and Harry links their fingers, squeezing once.

He could be sleeping. He could be back at their flat, eating a decent meal and doing something fun, other than studying. Maybe he could have called his mum to reassure her he wasn't wasting away and he was taking proper care of himself, thanks.

But. This is nice. Just lying next to Zayn. The street is dead, no cars blasting by. He can't hear anyone other than them. It's...nice.

-

Zayn is waiting for Harry when he gets home one Sunday evening. Harry’s exhausted from his shift, and from the two hours he put into studying at the library. He’s got the first of his examinations in a week and he has to be ready, _has_ to do well enough to get into Manchester.

It’s a surprise to see Zayn there, instead of out at one of his gigs, but the sight of him brings a small smile to Harry’s face. He’s so pleased to see him.

“You’re home,” Harry says, dropping his bag onto the dingy table they eat at. He still has a bit of revising to do before he can go to sleep, but that can wait.

“Harry,” Zayn says. His voice is soft, serious. “We need to talk.”

-

Zayn’s been offered a contract in America to record. In LA. Someone at the station heard him singing along to whatever was playing at the time and had an uncle who was a producer, or something. Harry can’t exactly remember all the details.

All he knows is that Zayn is going off to America, to record an album, to work with some amazing producers who are up and coming. It’s what he’s wanted, what he’s worked so hard for. It’s his dream coming true. Harry knows that.

He just doesn’t understand the rest of it.

“You haven’t been happy,” Zayn tells him, holding Harry’s hand. Harry can barely even register the touch. He feels so disconnected. “You’ve been so tired and I haven’t seen you smile in so long. You can’t keep going on this way.”

Harry is quiet, doesn’t know where his words have all rushed off to without him. Yes, he’s tired. But he’s smiled, plenty of times. Zayn just hasn’t been around enough to see them. 

“I think it would be better if we just called it off while we’re ahead. This just isn’t working out, and I don’t want you to be this unhappy for the rest of your life. We’re within the first year, so there won’t be any repercussions. It’ll just be like it never happened.”

He puts his mouth against Harry’s hand, kissing him softly before letting him go and standing up. He’s got a duffle already packed, Harry hadn’t even noticed it by his feet on the floor. He’s still sitting on the bed, looking up at Zayn with wide eyes. He feels like his heart is being torn to shreds inside his chest.

“I’m going to stay with Ant until it’s time for me to go. I’ll send the paperwork over as soon as I get it filed, okay?”

Harry stays where he’s seated. His mind is stuck, can’t get past the fact that Zayn doesn’t have a passport, has never even been on a plane. Who’s going to go with him to get his photo done? Who’s going to make sure he doesn’t just live off of cigarettes and samosas? What’s he going to do with the deck he put on layaway for Zayn’s birthday?

Zayn reaches out, like he’s going to touch Harry one last time, but he draws back, drops his hand to his side, fingers curled up in a loose fist. His ring finger still has two stripes inked in, _forever, forever_. “See you, Harry,” he says softly. 

Then he’s gone.

-

Harry gets on the train, mind still blank and fuzzy. He doesn’t realise where he’s going until the automatic voice is chiming up to tell him he’s at the station a mile from his mum’s. He doesn’t have a bag with him, doesn’t know if he even remembered to lock the door to the flat. His legs work on automatic, taking him away from the station and along the familiar roads to his old house.

He knocks on the front door, doesn’t know where his key is to let himself in. It’s not until his mum opens the door, wide smile sliding off her face immediately when she sees his face, that he lets himself collapse, lets himself cry.

His mum catches him in her arms, pulls him into the house and sits them both down on the sofa. She’s talking to him, voice frantic, asking him _what’s going on, is he okay? Is he hurt? Where’s Zayn?_

Hearing his name sets something loose in Harry.

“He’s left, he’s left,” he sobs, pressing closer to his mum, shoulders shaking with his sobs. “He’s left me. I fucking hate him.”

“Oh, darling,” his mum says, wrapping her arms around him so tight it hurts. “Oh, baby boy.”

-

  
**Zayn Malik Buys Mum House!**   
By LACY JACKSON  
PUBLISHED: 15:00 GMT, 25 April 2012 | UPDATED: 18:29 GMT, 25 April 2012

The R&B Superstar has somehow managed to do it again! Zayn Malik, 19, bought a house for his family, keeping the charitable action from news reporters until his mum, Trisha, tweeted a photo of the new Casa de Malik. 

When contacted by our offices for a statement, Malik’s rep stated that the singer had been planning the surprise for a while now, but wanted to wait until her birthday to present the gift of a new home for the whole family. Malik’s representative further said that the singer, “wanted to buy a house for [his] family, since they had always rented his whole life. [He] wanted them to have something permanent”. Trisha’s birthday was five months ago in November. She posted on her Twitter, 

  
**Trisha praises son Zayn over his dedication to taking care of his family on Twitter last night**

Malik is known to be generous to his friends and family. He’s paid for his little sisters Waliyha and Safaa’s private education and bought older sister Doniya a flat in London while she goes to university. He’s also funded the clothing project of brothers Danny and Anthony Riach, boyhood friends of his. 

  
**Brothers Danny and Anthony both thank Zayn after a generous donation to start their clothing line**

He’s been pretty mum about such acts of kindness, but his family always wants the world to know. Expect more good things from Malik, who’s currently on his world-wide, sold out tour for his first album “The Afterparty”. 

Follow us: @MailOnline on Twitter | DailyMail on Facebook

-

Harry’s relationship with Nick is...odd, to say the least. He’d come into the bakery after wandering about town while he was visiting his parents. Harry had been manning the counter, since it was during the six-month period where he had to work the kitchen as well as the front, to learn the retail side of the business as well as the baking. Mary was doing it to shape him into someone who could possibly take over the business when she wanted to retire, and Harry was happy for the extra hours to help pad his wages.

Nick had come in, looking up in amusement at the jangling bell connected to the door. He’d eyed Harry before he’d even looked at the bakery case, eyes hungry for something other than pastry. Harry knew pretty well by then how to slide out from any sort of awkward propositioning from customers or strangers, so he’d just been unfailingly polite, offering Nick samples and telling him all about how the pastries were made, what they were like. Nick had left with a box of assorted baked goods, an overwhelmed look on his face.

Honestly, that was the last Harry had ever expected to see of him, but Nick had surprised him. He’d come by a few weeks later, saying his mum had been craving the shortbread he’d brought home and simply nothing tasted right. 

After that, Nick took to coming around once or twice a month, staying longer and longer to talk to Harry. Eventually, Harry had stopped working the front counter, and an amused Mary had allowed Nick to sit in the kitchen with him and watch him work since he was, as she put it, “one of our best customers and also such a lovely lad and good friend of yours”. Harry was startled to realise she was right.

Nick had his number, knew where he worked and where he lived—there had been an incident in the kitchen that ended with yellow food dye all over Nick’s shirt and Harry had been so apologetic he’d begged him to come to his flat to get cleaned and changed and Nick had relented—and they chatted often.

They got along so well that by the time Harry figured out who Nick was, it was too late to run. 

He can admit that he had sort of cut himself off from the world outside his job and his flat and his few friends after he came home. His computer is an ancient laptop and his television only gets four channels, his phone is old, so he doesn’t see much of what’s happening. Sometimes, pop culture information bleeds into his life, and he’d known, vaguely, that the BBC had revitalised itself with a new presenter, one popular with a younger audience and artists alike. But Harry had never connected Nick Grimshaw from the bakery who pops by sometimes with Nick bloody Grimshaw who hosts national radio and presents television programmes. It comes to him abruptly, when Nick is complaining about one of his guests being an absolute diva and Harry realises he means a _pop star_.

So Harry isn't sure it's such a great idea to go to Nick Grimshaw's flat, but he doesn't like to be rude. Plus, Nick invited him before Harry really realised what he did, so it's not Nick's fault Harry is such a head case. He's been perfectly lovely and welcoming, showing Harry around his flat in Primrose Hill--and God, the fact that Harry knows someone who can afford a huge flat in Primrose Hill is astounding--and welcoming Harry to his food and his wine.

This friendship with Nick is strange and Harry doesn't always know what to do with it. Nick keeps inviting him to shows and to come to the station to meet the whole crew, but Harry doesn't want that. He doesn't want to accidentally see or hear something that will strike too close to home. Nick says he gets that Harry is a little eccentric, but Harry thinks he's a bit hurt that Harry doesn't seem impressed by the things most people would be.

Harry can't help the caution. He used to be less careful and he just couldn't stomach the shock that filled him up any time he stumbled on something that reminded him of--

He cuts himself off before he can think the name. There's no point going down that road. Not when he's in London for the first time in ages, and he doesn't have to worry about the money to go out to eat or see an art show because Nick keeps telling him to put his bank card away.

Nick had to go to a production meeting, leaving Harry alone with his Sky+ and a marathon of Kitchen Nightmares. Harry hasn't really had the time to marathon television shows in longer than he can remember, so it's nice, sitting on the couch and just watching Gordon Ramsay yell while Harry's mind goes numb.

He's almost asleep, eyelids heavy, when Nick bursts through the door. Puppy barks at him from her bed, tail wagging madly. Nick gets down and plays with her for a bit, making a big fuss about what a good girl she is before he stands up and brushes the non-existent dust off his jeans.

"I've got something you might like!" he says, reaching for the remote and pausing the telly on Gordon holding his head in his hands.

Harry sits up and yawns, wondering if maybe he can have a bit of a nap instead. "What kind of something?" They've only really known each other for four or five months, Nick doesn't exactly know everything that Harry likes and dislikes yet, even if he knows Harry is odd about his social media exposure.

Nick throws himself onto the couch next to Harry, phone in his hands and pointed at Harry. It's the newest iPhone and Harry can't even begin to wonder how much it cost. "Got a new track in at work that I'm supposed to play during the countdown this week. The main artist is good, but it's the feature I'm keen on." He hits play and the tension in Harry's shoulders lessens when he hears a woman start to sing.

Now that he knows what Nick does, who he _is_ , Harry is almost always tense when Nick brings up work. He can't help it. There's only so many times Harry can say he doesn't much care about pop culture before Nick starts to get suspicious over Harry shutting him down.

"Here's the bit," Nick whispers, moving his phone closer to Harry.

Harry is amused until the woman's voice fades away to be replaced by one that's intimately familiar to Harry. He stands up quickly, fumbles an apology when Nick's phone gets knocked out of his hand. Nick picks it up and presses pause, giving Harry an odd look.

"Honestly, duck, what was that about? I know Zayn Malik has possibly the best voice in the world, and he's definitely one of the most gorgeous people I've ever met, but that's no reason to go jumping up, risking the integrity of my phone." He squints at Harry. "Are you one of those people who don’t like hearing new material leaked before an album drops? I promise this wasn't gotten illegally, artists send advanced copies of singles out to radio stations all the time—"

"You've met him?" Harry blurts out, feeling his heart start to race. What if Nick _knows_?

Nick makes a face. "I see my suspicions about you not listening to my show have been confirmed. Of course I have. I interviewed him a few weeks ago. He's probably the best selling artist right now, his album is ace. I play his singles on air all the time."

Harry thinks he might be sick. "Um. I don't feel great. Think I ate something off. I'm just. Bathroom," he stumbles over his words and his feet as he makes his way to the bathroom.

"Oh, sorry, do you need anything? I've got some fizzy water that might help, and I think there are some crackers in the pantry." Nick sounds worried.

"Yes, that would be good, I think," Harry says. He shuts the door to the bathroom and sits down on the closed toilet lid, fingers tangling in his curls. He tugs on them roughly, still feels the churning in his stomach, anger tasting like bile in his throat.

He should have known coming here would be a bad idea.

-

  
**R &B Superstars Zayn Malik and Frank Ocean release collaboration cover**   
**Reworking of Ocean’s controversial “American Wedding” raises some eyebrows and questions.**

Wednesday 14 Aug 2013

FRANK OCEAN, 25, caused quite a bit of controversy when he released an unauthorized sample of the Eagles’ “Hotel California” called “American Wedding” on his hit mixtape, Nostalgia Ultra in February of 2011. He was banned from performing the song live if it included the musical backing track after the Eagles law team sent a Cease & Desist. OK! has learned that Ocean has revamped the wildly acclaimed track with fellow R&B Superstar, ZAYN MALIK, 20. 

Malik’s first album “The Afterparty” was released to overwhelming acclaim during the summer of 2011, making quite a name for the young star. He’s worked with several big names in his short career. Already, he’s laid down vocals for Nicki Minaj, Angel Haze, Jay-Z, Tyler the Creator, and the UK’s tremendously popular Little Mix (see Zayn Malik’s romance with Perrie Edwards?). 

This collaboration with Ocean will be the first time the two have worked together, although Malik has publically lauded and supported Ocean since he came out in mid-2012. Ocean tweeted about their work together last night. 

The track is scheduled to drop later this month. 

**Related article: Zayn Malik’s debut album beats out competition in a landslide  
Related article: Frank Ocean spotted with a new beau?**

-

The blind date was Louis' idea. Harry protested, a lot, but Louis just wouldn't listen to him. He insisted Harry needed to get out of his shell and actually _meet_ someone, not just work his life away in the bakery. The perfect man wouldn't wander by while Harry was sequestered in a kitchen. So Harry agreed, albeit reluctantly, to go on a date with someone Louis thought would be perfect for him.

It wasn't like Harry hadn't tried to date. He'd had a couple hook-ups that were just as awkward as he'd thought they would be. He'd even actually gone on a couple dates with people he met at cafes and the grocery store. But nothing really stuck.

Harry gets to the cosy Italian place ten minutes before his date is supposed to arrive. He's wearing the stupid red scarf Louis told him he had to, and he's made an effort with his hair and shoes. It's more than he's done in a while. The hostess brings him to his table and Harry tries not to fidget awkwardly with the forks or empty wine glasses. A server comes with a pitcher of ice water and Harry smiles at her as she fills both glasses.

His date comes bustling in fifteen minutes late. Harry was considering just leaving and telling Louis he was an asshole, but he didn't want to just walk out of the restaurant he'd been sitting in for over twenty minutes without actually ordering something. That would have been rude.

"Sorry, sorry, I lost my phone and I had to tear the whole flat apart looking for it." 

Louis told him his date's name was Andrew and he was twenty-seven, that he worked with Louis at the school, and that he was a tad strange, sometimes. He didn't tell Harry that Andrew was quite tall, with black hair and brown eyes and something that spoke of East-Asian ancestry. It makes Harry swallow a bit hard, even though Andrew doesn't look a thing like...well. 

"Don't worry about it, I can be a bit of a scatterbrain myself," Harry says, holding out his hand to shake Andrew's. "It's very nice to meet you. Louis has only had good things to say."

Andrew laughs and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Really? I would expect him to say really horrible things, but that's Louis. It's good meeting you, Harry." His accent is quite posh, definitely not Northern.

The waitress comes over with a smile and asks what they'll have to drink. Andrew orders wine and Harry gets the same, stumbling over the pronunciation while Andrew smiles at him. She comes back quickly and they take a few minutes to decide on dinner before they actually get to speak properly.

"Louis told me he worked with you, but not what subject, or even where you were before this," Harry says while he nibbles on some bread from the basket. He wanted to do so earlier, but thought it might be rude for Andrew to arrive to an empty basket of bread.

"History," Andrew says, tapping his fingers against the table. "It's always been my passion. I want to teach at the University level, actually, but I thought I better cut my teeth on secondary before I jump into the deep end." His smile is very nice, genuine, and he is quite attractive. "I'm originally from London, though. Moved up here when I got the job offer after I finished my doctorate. Manchester is...certainly different." Even his laugh is attractive.

Harry smiles and tries to make himself focus on how nice Andrew seems. He doesn't need to be comparing him to anyone, that's just stupid.

They continue chatting about small things, like the places they both grew up, how many siblings they have--"Two older brothers and one older sister, all of whom tormented me something awful growing up"--where they want to take their next holiday. Their food comes and it's delicious, and the conversation is actually quite pleasant.

"So how long has it been since you were last on a date?" Andrew asks, smiling over the rim of his wineglass.

"I actually just got out of a pretty serious relationship," Harry says. He licks his lips, and tries not to twist his fingers in his napkin from nerves.

Andrew frowns. "Louis said you haven't dated anyone in over three years?" He sounds genuinely confused.

"Oh." Harry fiddles with his fork, twirls some pasta but doesn't eat it. "I mean, I haven't. It's been a bit longer than that, actually. But it was a very…It was a hard break-up, I guess. It's taken me a long time to get over it. So I haven't _really_ dated anyone since. Nothing that's worked out, anyway."

Andrew's frown deepens. "Ah." He looks a bit strained, actually. Like he wasn't expecting Harry's answer and it's sort of put him off.

"Sorry, I know that must be weird. It was just a big relationship, for me, and when he left, it—"

"No, I understand," Andrew cuts him off. 

It's awkward, after that. Andrew asks him about the bakery and Harry asks him about his classes, but Harry can sense that Andrew isn't as approachable as he was before he brought up exes.

Harry worries at his lip and tries to stay as upbeat as possible, not letting any awkward silences stretch between them, but he can tell by the end of dessert that this isn't going to work out. As much as Harry thinks he could like Andrew, as attractive and intelligent and passionate about his work as he is, Andrew will probably think that Harry is using him as some sort of rebound. Or that Harry would compare his previous relationship to Andrew. Harry doesn't blame him. It's understandable.

They split the check and Andrew kisses Harry on the cheek, tells him he'll give him a call, but Harry knows he won't. He goes home and sits on the couch and drinks the cheap red wine he picked up from the discount section at the off-license straight from the bottle and thinks over the dinner. Maybe it's just him. Maybe he just isn't cut out for the whole relationship thing. He can't ever seem to get it right, so that must be why nothing seems to work out for him.

He falls asleep on the couch, Jane snoring loudly from her bed on top of his feet.

-

**Exclusive! Interview with R &B superstar Zayn Malik**

**Posted by Amber Hornsby on 03 November 2014 16:49**

Heat had the rare opportunity to sit down with R&B superstar Zayn Malik for an intense one-on-one right after a photo shoot (in which he was looking more flawless than usual). Malik, as most of the world knows—and hates—is rather reclusive, for how well-known he is. 

The R&B chart-topper rarely grants interviews and what’s known about his background and family has had to be scavenged by fact-hounds. 

Malik has granted Heat a no-holds-barred look into his life as one of Britain’s—and truly the whole world’s—favourite singers. 

Although Malik is insanely private about his life before fame, it’s not hard to figure out about his past. Malik is the only son of Yaser and Trisha Malik. He has an older and two younger sisters (Doniya, [22], in University; Waliyah, [16], and Safaa, [12], still in second forms). Malik’s family are of mixed English and Pakistani descent, and Malik himself admits that he’s Muslim. 

He doesn’t talk about it often—with the heat and racism surrounding Muslims and Pakistanis, it’s not surprising. He does post pictures on his Twitter feed of himself and his family celebrating the holy holidays, and occasionally Tweets his fans in Urdu—but he’s never denied his faith. 

One thing he refuses to comment on is his relationships. Malik came out in early 2013 as being openly bisexual. He received support from a lot of his friends in the R&B and Hip-Hop community, most notably Frank Ocean, another openly Bisexual R&B singer. Much speculation between the two rose up after the announcement, but both singers have refused to comment, other than to say they’re good friends. Malik is rumoured to have been with a string of pop and other R&B stars, but never confirms or denies anything. 

Malik, as is well-known, has a tattoo of a wedding band on his left ring-finger. When asked, he generally laughs and says he’s married to music. But is that all to the story? 

The Bradford native was first introduced to the DJ scene in Manchester, England while attending University and working at the campus radio. 

**_How did you make the move from DJ to R &B superstar?_**

ZM: A chance encounter at the radio station, honestly. I’d been doing gigs pretty regularly at a couple clubs, but it wasn’t anything original. I’d picked up a shift one afternoon at the station and I was singing along to the track that was playing. Another DJ’s uncle, who happened to be a producer, was there and heard me. Like they say, the rest is history. 

**_So you dropped everything to fly to LA and become_ The _Zayn Malik?_**

ZM: [laughs] Yeah, I...I really gave up everything, but I gained everything in return, y’know? 

**_Including a marriage to music, huh?_**

Malik looks down at his ring finger, rubs at the black ink there. 

ZM: It’s a constant reminder. 

**_Of the things you’ve gained?_**

ZM: [chuckles softly] Yeah. Something like that. 

At this point, an assistant’s phone goes off and Zayn ducks his head when his current single starts playing. 

**_We didn’t orchestrate that!_**

ZM: [laughs] I believe you. 

**_A lot of your songs are love songs, or apologies for messing up relationships. For someone who never reveals who he’s seeing, you sure do sing about it quite a bit._**

ZM: Sort of a staple of the industry isn’t it? [laughs] No, I was in a relationship before all this happened. It ended poorly and I still haven’t figured out how to apologise properly. The songs I write are my way of trying to get it right. 

**_Surely any girl would fall over herself to get back with you. She should be so lucky!_**

ZM: Nah. I’d be the lucky one. 

We talk about lost love for a little longer before we move on to comics. Malik’s face lights up as he talks about meeting comic book legend Stan Lee earlier this year when he went to Marvel Studios, and working with Wallace & Gromit creator Nick Park when he designed a Gromit statue for the Wallace & Gromit Grand Appeal charity drive in 2013. 

We finally get down to brass tacks after that. 

**_So what is the new album like? You’ve been so secretive!_**

ZM: More apologetic love songs. [laughs] It’s different. I like it quite a lot, honestly. I’m hoping the fans like it as well. 

**_They love everything you’ve done so far._**

ZM: [smiles] I’m so thankful for that. I feel like people don’t know just how truly grateful I am to the fans. To everyone who has supported me thus far. Everyone who bought the album or came to a show. Without them, I would have nothing. I would be nothing but a lad from Bradford with a club gig twice a week. Thank you so much, guys.  


_[Zayn Malik’s sophomore album_ badlands _is due for release 12 December 2014.]_

-

Harry leaves the bakery early on his twenty-first birthday. He doesn't really plan to, but Mary shushes him and practically forces him out through his protests, even though it's only about three o'clock.

"You only turn twenty-one once, love!" she says with a laugh, closing the door on his face.

"You only turn every age once!" he shouts through the glass. Mary and Sarah are laughing at him and he heard Travis braying while Mary was shooing him out of the kitchen. At least they let him get his jacket and keys before they made him leave.

When he gets to his flat, he pauses, unsure what to do with the rest of his day. He's only supposed to meet up with the lads later that night to have a few drinks. Maybe he could take Jane on a walk, get some fresh air into his lungs. He turns the key in the lock and steps inside.

"Surprise!"

Jane starts barking her head off as soon as she sees him, even though she's secure in Niall's arms. Niall is grinning at him, stood next to his mum and Gemma and Liam and Louis and even Nick. Harry's heart pounds, from shock and also what feels like abject happiness.

"Oh my god," he says softly, putting his hand over his mouth. They've got a banner with _HAPPY 21st BIRTHDAY HARRY!_ across in sparkly glitter letters. His mum is even holding a cake that looks homemade, frosting pink and unevenly spread. Harry feels a bit like he might cry.

"Happy birthday, baby boy," his mum says softly. She puts the cake down on the table and wraps him up in her arms, hugging him so tight it almost hurts. "Look at you. So grown up." She's definitely crying, and if Harry has to hide his face in her neck for a few moments to compose himself, no one says anything.

Gemma punches him in his arm lightly, then hugs him once his mum has let him go. "Look at you. Finally an old man, huh?"

"Like you can talk." Harry's voice is a bit scratchy, but he's honestly so pleased. He can't believe his mum and Gemma are here, and Nick and all the lads. "Who planned this?"

Nick grins and ruffles his curls. "Niall went through your phone when you weren't looking and got my number. Said he wanted to plan you a nice surprise for your big day. How could I say no to seeing your big dumb face all shocked and pleased to see me?" His eyes are soft. "Wanted to make sure you had a good birthday, didn't I?"

Harry throws his arms around Niall once he's put Jane down, and she barks at them while dancing across their feet. "Thanks, Nialler," Harry says softly into Niall's neck. "I really appreciate it."

Niall's face is flushed and he looks extra pleased when they pull away. "Of course. This is a big one for ya, how else would we celebrate it?"

"Plus, your big shot friend told us he would take us all to dinner, right?" Louis asks, looking at Nick slyly. Liam rolls his eyes, but he's still got his arm around Louis' waist and doesn't look like it's going anywhere any time soon.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing pipsqueak."

Harry laughs and grins, cheeks hurting from how hard he's smiling. This is probably the best he's felt in a long time.

Later, after the early afternoon dinner that lasted several hours and included Nick charming the pants off his mum, Gemma threatening him with birthday spankings, and generally way too much noise for the restaurant they were in--and Nick picking up the bill, even though his mum tried to convince him that Louis was only joking and they would all take Harry’s portion between them, since it was his birthday, but Nick just pretended he couldn’t hear anyone as he got his card out--Niall took them all back to the bar. Harry’s mum kissed his cheek and Gemma gave him a rib-crushing hug since they had to leave to drive back home, but Harry was just so happy they got to come at all.

Harry gulps down the last of his beer and throws the empty glass onto the table to a round of cheers from the lads. He's drunk, _so_ drunk it's ridiculous. He hasn't been this drunk in ages. But it's his birthday, his twenty-first, and he's going to get as sloshed as he possibly can, especially since everyone keeps buying him rounds and handing him shots. Plus, Nick opened a tab at the bar for the whole party, so everyone was taking advantage.

"It's my birthday!" he shouts, and the whole bar erupts into applause. Niall is whistling at an ear-piercing level. "I'm legal!"

"You've been legal here for three years, mate!" Liam says, laughing. His cheeks are red from how drunk he is. Harry wonders how long it's been since he's had a proper night out.

"Legal in the States, then!" Louis roars. 

Nick swoops in and hands Harry another shot, something pink and vicious looking. "Drink up, birthday boy!"

Harry laughs and downs his shot, wincing at the fire that burns his throat after. "God, that's nasty." Louis and Nick just laugh at him, actually agreeing on something instead of bickering like they did in the restaurant.

He's drunk enough that he thinks about his eighteenth birthday, how he spent it in his flat hiding under his duvet. His nineteenth he was working, and his twentieth he had a small dinner back at home with his mum. It makes him feel a bit maudlin, thinking about those other birthdays. How alone he was. But not now. Not surrounded by all these loud, boisterous lads who never let him think sad things for too long.

Niall cackles when he jumps onto Harry's back, and Harry almost doesn't grab him in time to keep him from falling. "What a craic!" Niall shouts in his ear. He technically should be manning the bar and not drunk off his arse, but the other bartender, Matthew, is in for the night as well, so no one calls him out on it. "Best birthday ever! Absolutely legend!"

Laughing, Harry hugs Niall's legs to his side. He doesn't think about those birthdays when he was alone. He doesn’t think about the hole he had to patch up in his wall or the busted knuckles he had to lie about at work. He thinks about now; about Niall warm and happy against his back. About Louis and Liam laughing at the bar and throwing back whiskey sours that they'll regret come morning. About Nick, looking pleased and actually meeting Harry’s friends and family for the first time. About how warm his chest feels at the thought of these lads. Warmth that isn't just due to all the alcohol he's consumed in the past few hours. They mean the world to him, and this is probably the best birthday he's ever had.

-

**Matters of the Heart: Is Zayn Malik Still Pining After Lost Love?**

04 FEBRUARY 2015

Zayn Malik’s highly-anticipated second album _badlands_ dropped late last year during the holiday season to much fanfare and hype. It’s quickly climbed both the R &B and pop charts, and the music video for the first single “break up/break down” beat YouTube’s ‘most views in a single day’ record. 

Not much is known about the personal life of the R&B superstar—he keeps to himself about who he’s dating, who he’s hanging out with and where he’s at when he’s not on stage. 

What we get of him are late-night Tweets that seem to ramble about nothing, but might possibly allude to a romance that’s been on his mind for quite a few years now. 

Fans have speculated about whether or not Malik is currently dating anyone, or who the tweets and lyrics could be about. Much scrutiny has come over the tattoo on his left hand, especially after his collaboration with Frank Ocean on the re-mastered “American Wedding”. 

Multiple interviewers have asked after the status of the R&B singer’s heart, but Malik remains coy. Whoever all these tweets and songs are about is one lucky girl, in most of the world’s eyes. Maybe one day she’ll even give him another chance. 

-

Harry wakes up when Jane lets one rip right in his face. “Ugghhh,” he moans, batting her away from his face. He knew he shouldn’t have shared his lo mein with her last night. But she’d sat at the other end of the sofa, whimpering and looking at him like he was the cruellest person in the entire world, and he couldn’t deny her anything. She knows exactly how to play him.

She grumbles, rolling over onto the duvet tummy up, all four paws twitching in the air. Her stubby little tail moves against the bedspread as her whole body jerks. Harry’s heart melts, looking down at her, and he can’t even try to be mad. Even though his alarm clock cheerfully tells him he’s got half an hour before he’s supposed to be awake, damn.

He’s had Jane for two years now. She’s an awkward mix of cocker spaniel and pit bull, as far as the vet can tell. He’d found her in a dumpster one night when he was throwing stuff out for the bakery. She was half-blind and tiny, shivering and covered in filth. There was no way he could leave her in there, so he’d scooped her out and she’s been with him ever since.

“Ungrateful,” he mumbles, stretching his arms out until they pop. His fingers are a little sore from how hard he’d been clutching a piping bag yesterday, but he’s pretty used to it by now. Jane snorts, front paws twitching as Harry gets up off the bed. He scrubs a hand through his hair and stumbles away from the bed, heads over to the tiny kitchen to start the kettle. The pantry opening gets Jane’s attention and she jumps off the bed with a bark, scrambles over to wind around Harry’s feet, getting in the way of everything.

“Oi, be patient.” Harry rolls his eyes when she continues barking at him, but grins despite himself as she bounces up and down, paws glancing off his knees.

As he’s pouring Jane a cup of doggie kibble, his phone chirps a text on the counter. Harry grabs it, flips it open and snorts when he sees it’s Nick.

_coming by the bakery l8r. save me a scone y don’t u xx  
NG_

_Course. Twat xx_

Harry closes his phone and toes Jane’s bowl away from his feet so she can stop dribbling bits of half-chewed kibble on them. He has to take her for a walk, let her go wee and then put her in her kennel while he goes to work, but first, a shower.

The morning goes just about as well as any morning of his does. The hot water kicks out halfway through his shower, and he manages to stub both big toes hopping around trying to dry himself. His chef pants smell of old cake batter since he hasn’t had time to wash them yet, and his apron still has a large pink stain across the front, but it’s not a big deal. He stays in the kitchen and it’s not like it’s _unusual_ for a baker to have a messy appearance. That just means you’re doing it right.

Jane whines when he puts her in her kennel, even though it’s heaped full of a soft toys and a nice bed and even a blanket that smells like him. She doesn’t like not being with him, he knows, but he can’t bring her to work.

“I’ll see you after my shift, mongrel,” he says, rubbing one soft downy ear between the bars. She makes a pathetic face at him and Harry leaves before he can convince himself to try to sneak her in. Mary’s understanding, but she’s not _that_ understanding.

It’s a quick jog down to the bakery, since he only lives two blocks away, and he waves at the cheerful hullo Sarah gives him when he walks in. He shuffles off to the back where Travis is already elbows deep in a bowl of risen dough.

“Hey, messy hair,” Travis says, kneading hard enough that the muscles in his biceps stand out. “Headband up or Miss Mary will have our guts for garters, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mumbles, taking his headband out of his trousers pocket and pushing his curls back with it. It makes him look like an idiot, but it does get the job done, and if he wears it he doesn’t have to wear a hairnet, which is a relief. Harry hates hairnets. “You always mouth off to your bosses like that, then?” he asks, heading to the refrigerator for the ingredients he needs.

“Only to the ones who deserve it,” Travis quips happily.

Harry rolls his eyes and starts in on his own project. Travis is a good worker, and a talented baker. After Clive retired a year ago, Travis had showed up on the doorstep with no previous experience to his name but a determination that made Harry sure he could rely on him. It’d been a good decision and he hadn’t regretted it at all, even if Travis does sass him more than an underling probably should.

He’s been head of the kitchen since Clive retired, having taken over at Mary’s insistence, with Clive’s quiet support. After five years, he’s learned this kitchen inside and out, so it’s no wonder that he’s been given it to run. It’s not where he expected to be, but it’s not bad at all. Since he never finished his A-levels, actually having a full-time job with benefits that he’s good at and enjoys is something close to a miracle. He knows plenty of people who aren’t nearly so fortunate.

“Something smells delicious!” calls out a voice that makes Harry start, dragging him from his thoughts. He reluctantly grins when Nick comes crashing into the back, all long limbs and unruly hair. Travis groans, but Harry knows it’s not real. He’s actually got a little bit of a hero worship when it comes to Nick.

“Hairnet, Grimshaw! Hairnet!” Travis’ own buzzed head means he never has to worry about sanitation issues and he delights in making others miserable with it.

Nick makes a disgusted face, even though he knows the drill by now, and shoves a beanie onto his head. It makes him look ridiculous and Harry laughs, every time. “Keep laughing, pretty boy,” Nick says, poking his finger in Harry’s face. “Won’t be laughing when I sneak into your flat and cut off all those pretty curls.” It’s an empty threat. Nick loves Harry’s curls more than anyone else he’s ever met.

He’d banned Nick from talking about his job after that disastrous incident at his flat, and Nick had agreed, completely bemused. He knew what a sheltered life Harry lived, but he hadn’t pried, thankfully. He seemed to understand how much the privacy meant to Harry. He also seemed to enjoy Harry’s company enough that he didn’t want to jeopardize it by doing the one thing Harry asked him not to do.

They get along well, texting each other about their dogs and cooking programmes. It makes Harry a lot more content than he’d ever thought he would be.

“Hullo, you odd duckling,” Nick says, waving his hand in front of Harry’s face, the ridiculous nickname he’d given Harry ages ago. “Where were you? You were completely zoned out.” 

Harry blinks, then smiles at him. “I was thinking about you, of course.”

Nick rolls his eyes, but he still looks pleased. “And where are my promised scones?” he demands, holding out his hand. “I’ve been talking them up so much at the station and everyone has demanded to try them. They think I’ve made you up and I tell them I’m coming home only because I’m having a secret, illicit affair.”

That makes Harry bark out a laugh, even though something in his chest feels tight when Nick mentions the radio station. “I’ve met Matt, though,” he says. Nick had brought Matt along during Christmas to his family’s house, and they’d both dropped by to pick something up for Christmas dinner.

“No one can believe a word from Finchy’s lips, unfortunately,” Nick says. “He’s got a terrible reputation as a liar.” 

“I’ll bet,” Harry says, smiling. It’s most likely that Nick has been the one to get him that reputation. “I threw in some apple turnovers, since we had some left over from the breakfast rush.” Harry picks up a box that’s been sitting on the shelf that’s still warm. He doesn’t want Nick feeling conceited, because he’s already got a big enough ego, but Harry actually baked everything up fresh and special just for him. 

The look Nick sends Harry is dramatically hurt. He even puts his hand to his chest.“Harry Styles. As your oldest and _best_ friend—”

“I’ve only known you three years, Grim.”

Nick scoffs. “That doesn’t even warrant a _response_ , Harold. You’re just being rude.”

Travis is snickering at his counter, rolling out his dough. He’d been fascinated by their banter, when he first started, pretty amazed that Harry knew _the_ Nick Grimshaw of The Breakfast Show. But now, he just laughs, completely unfazed. The Grimmy that comes to their bakery is different from the Grimmy on the radio.

Harry sets the box down and surprises himself by leaning over to give Nick a hug. Nick seems startled as well, but quickly moves to wrap himself around Harry tightly. There’d been a rocky time in their relationship when Nick tried to get him to go out, and Harry had refused. He’d then refused every single other person Nick had tried to set him up with, until Nick had finally relented and given up. Now, though, Harry truly does feel like Nick is the closest person in his life. He’d not be better off without him.

“What was that for?” Nick asks softly after Harry pulls back. Harry shrugs, then grins when Travis starts laughing, pointing at Nick’s back. Nick twists around, sees the floury handprints on the back of his shirt and makes an enraged noise. “You minx!” he shouts. 

Harry laughs and then picks up the box, brandishing it as surrender to Nick’s fury. Nick mockingly glares at him for a moment later before taking the box from him. After he’s accepted it, he leans down, pecks Harry on both cheeks and makes his way out of the kitchen.

“I’ll get you back for that, duck!” he says, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

Travis and Harry go back to their work after Nick has gone, but Harry doesn’t stop smiling until long after the visit.

-

Harry gives a tired wave to Siobhán as she starts taking out the ingredients for the morning’s bread. He’s beyond glad he no longer has to work third shift, and Siobhán seems to thrive on the night work. He locks her into the bakery and makes his way slowly down the block. The day had been long and Harry is tired, but he’s not ready to go to sleep, yet. Instead, he heads back home, cleans himself up and changes into more casual clothes.

Jane is being a nuisance, twisting around his legs while he tries to dress, whimpering when he goes to move away. He knows how much she misses him when he’s gone, knows she’s got a major case of separation anxiety, so he takes pity on her and picks her up, laughing when she starts to bathe his face in kisses. 

“Ugh, you’re so gross,” he complains, nose wrinkling at her rank dog breath. She makes happy noises, wriggling in his arms. “C’mon, lady, it’s time to go visit your favourite person in the whole world.”

He puts her down and they walk over to the front door where her leash is and she starts barking, tail wiggling madly when she sees him take it down. Thankfully, she lets him clip it on with no trouble, and they make their way out of the flat.

The Prancing Pony is only a few blocks down from his flat, and entirely too pretentious to be a regular place that Harry would go to a couple nights a week, but the drinks are reasonably priced, and the bartender, Niall, is actually a good friend of his.

Niall came down from Ireland to try his hand at The X-Factor, but didn’t make it past auditions. He decided to bum around London instead of going back to his village and he ended up in Manchester, running a bar for a boss who was actually from Mullingar as well, coincidence of coincidences, and more than happy to hand over the reins of the business to a fellow countryman.

Through Niall, Harry met Louis, who is a primary school teacher specialising in drama and theatre, even though he calls all his pupils little demons and “not worthy of the Bard’s glorious words” every time Harry sees him. Louis is dating and lives with Liam, a harried civil service barrister. They’re ridiculously happy together and Harry doesn’t like to think about it too much or he gets jealous and thinks ungrateful thoughts about them, and Louis and Liam are too lovely to have negative thoughts about. He really does like them, even if it seems like they actually have their lives figured out and put together.

Louis is already sitting in their regular booth when Harry walks in, and Niall is polishing a glass behind the bar. He isn’t allowed to come out when he’s on shift, technically, but he generally breaks the rules for them. Not that his boss would ever fire him. Niall is the only reason the Prancing Pony is still in business. 

“Jane!” Niall shouts, throwing his rag down. He places the glass onto the counter with a little more care, but then bounds out from behind the bar and throws himself on Jane. She’s already wiggling and whining pathetically, trying to get to him. Harry wasn’t exaggerating when he said Niall was her favourite person, even before him.

Niall ends up on his back, Jane slobbering all over his face. They both seem pretty happy with the turn of events, and since there’s only one patron at the far end of the bar, not even paying them any mind, Harry isn’t one to make them part.

“Your usual, then?” Niall asks, getting up. He’s got Jane lodged firmly under one arm even though her tail is wagging so hard her entire body is vibrating in his grip.

Harry lets the leash fall from his fingers, since he figures Niall isn’t giving her up anytime soon. “Sure.”

Niall hops back behind the bar with Jane and Harry joins Louis in their booth. 

“Hey, Lou. Where’s Liam tonight?”

Louis is already two pints deep and looks a mixture between longing and amused. “Client had some last-minute details to go over for their case tomorrow. Liam stayed behind to assure them because he’s bloody brilliant.”

Harry nods, murmurs a quiet thanks when Niall shoves him over the booth, handing him a lager, Jane squirming her way between them. “He is, that.” Liam works far too hard for how little he’s paid, they all know it. He never complains, though. Louis does it enough for the both of them. “Good day at work, then?”

“When is it ever,” Louis says, sighing dramatically. “Those heathens wouldn’t know art if it squatted over them and took a huge dump on their faces. None of them even know what _Grease_ is.”

He continues bitching about his day and Harry hums and nods in the right places while Niall laughs and chats back, letting the conversation wash over him. He likes spending time with Louis and Niall, even if they’re more high-energy than he is. Liam is more his speed, his level of boring—Louis’ words, not Harry’s. He thinks, maybe, if he’d met them _before_ , he’d probably be just as cheerful and bright as they are, but Harry is more subdued now than he was in his late teens. 

Louis gets curious about Harry, he knows. There’s always a spark of something in his eyes that asks _what’s your story then?_ but he never pries. Harry had overheard Niall telling Liam and Louis not to question his lack of a details about his personal life on his way out from the loos one day, even though he knew Louis wanted to know, and Niall sounded so serious about it that neither of them had done it. Harry appreciates Niall a lot. He’s sort of like Nick, but far more laidback. He’s good to have around. Harry would have been interested in him if he was interested in anyone, honestly.

They end up spending two hours in the pub, munching on crisps, drinking slowly—it’s a work night for both Louis and Harry—and chatting about nothing at all. Harry really enjoys spending time with them. Every month they rotate going to each other’s flats to have a night of movies and pizza and horrible beer and Harry finds himself looking forward to it every month like he hasn’t looked forward to many things in a while.

His mum keeps telling him he seems happier, and he thinks he really is.

“Think it’s time for us to head back home,” he says, grabbing Jane’s leash before she can make a break for the back of the bar so she never has to leave Niall again. She starts whining as soon as she realises he’s making a move to leave the person she loves most in the whole wide world. Like she won’t see him in a few days when Harry comes back (the Prancing Pony has a no animals policy, but Niall never met a rule he cared to follow, and he loves Jane too much to keep her from visiting).

“Same time Wednesday?” Louis asks, standing up and brushing peanut shells off of his pants. “Maybe Liam will be able to join us.”

“I definitely think I’ve forgotten what he looks like,” Niall says dryly. Louis spent a good twenty minutes showing them pictures of him and Liam at the beach from his phone. Louis flicks him off for the comment. 

“We’ll see you later,” Harry says, standing up. 

Niall makes a sad face and tells Jane goodbye in a high-pitched voice that matches the whine she gives him. When he’s done being gross with Harry’s dog, he pulls him in for a tight hug. “See you later, Haz. Take care of yourself.”

Harry waves the rest of their goodbyes off and heads out of the pub, Jane trotting happily at his feet.

He walks home, Jane's lead loose in his hand. He's sort of tipsy from the lager, but not drunk. The street is quiet, since it's pushing midnight, and Harry is left with his own thoughts on the walk back. He doesn't like to be left with his thoughts too often, because everything eventually turns back to what he doesn't want to think about.

It's hard, so hard, sometimes. Harry tries not to let himself think about it, since it's been five years and he should be _over_ it by now, but what happened still drives his life every day. He's isolated himself from the world because he's so afraid of what might happen if he opens himself up to it. He hid because it was easier than dealing with the hurt, and he's been hidden for so long that the thought of facing reality terrifies him.

After the weekend where he hid himself away at his mum's house, weeping in her arms every time he was reminded of what happened, he got rid of everything. He threw away his phone, got a pay-as-you-go one that only had two numbers programmed into it. Two numbers became three, then six and then ten, which is more than he ever thought he would have, and it makes him beyond happy, sometimes, when he thinks about it. 

He’d tried to keep up with what was happening, surfing the internet for hours to find any mention of Zayn’s name. As Zayn got more successful, becoming an overnight sensation, it seemed, Harry saw more and more. He saw how happy Zayn looked, how in love he seemed with his life. It hurt. It hurt so much more than Harry ever thought anything else could hurt, seeing Zayn _happy_ without him, when sometimes Harry could barely even breathe, he missed him so much. 

So he sold his laptop and took Mary's old, wheezing ancient one when she replaced it for the business. He only ever used it to type up recipes for the bakery when necessary, instead of spending any time on gossip sites. He stopped getting the morning paper and really listening to the radio or watching telly, so he wouldn’t have to risk seeing Zayn’s face or hearing his voice. As much as Nick laughed at him for it, Harry only bought records at jumble shops to play on his second-hand record player. He stopped doing all the things he used to love, like seeing live music and going to hip coffee spots. He just stopped. 

Jane jumps on the bed as soon as he gets his flat unlocked, curling up and making herself a nest where Harry usually sleeps. Harry smiles to see her act like that, like she doesn’t want to be anywhere other than where Harry is. She doesn’t even get back up when he tips some kibble into her bowl, probably because Niall kept feeding her bits when he thought Harry wasn’t looking, so she’s not hungry for her night time feeding.

Harry grabs a book off the pile by the couch that he’s been meaning to read and takes it to his bed, even though he could probably do some laundry or take a shower or tidy up a bit. He should probably just go to sleep, if he’s not going to do anything useful. But Jane is warm by his side when he climbs onto the bed, nosing into his armpit and making him laugh, and he wants to just relax and think about nothing for a while before he goes to sleep.

So, Harry is doing pretty well for himself, all things considered. It could be a lot worse.

-

[Transcript from Radio 1 Breakfast Show 25.5.15] 

**NG:** Hiya! Today we’ve got in everybody’s favourite R &B musical heartthrob, Zayn Malik! 

[heavy applause and cheering] 

**ZM:** Hey, guys. Hey, Grimmy.  
**NG:** Oh, we get a personal hello today. How about that!  
**ZM:** [chuckles] How have you been, Nick? I haven’t spoken to you since the GQ dinner.  
**NG:** Oh, you know. Pining away for your gorgeous face every day of my life. Got a new puppy, so we’re learning to get along.  
**ZM:** Oh yeah? What’s her name?  
**NG:** [laughs] Pig. I’m not very creative on that front, I’m afraid.  
**ZM:** You should bring her over for a play date with Hatchi sometime. He’d like that.  
**NG:** You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. Zayn Malik has asked me and Pig out on a date. I can finally quit this life of humdrum work and go live on Zayn’s pleasure yacht.  
**ZM:** [laughs] I don’t have a pleasure yacht.  
**NG:** You will when we’re married! 

[unknown noises] 

**NG:** Finchy is telling me we have to stop planning the wedding and actually talk about your album.  
**ZM:** [laughs] What a shame.  
**NG:** _badlands_ has been out for five and a half months and it’s number one on both the R &B and Pop charts. How does that feel?  
**ZM:** You’re making me blush! It’s been great, really. I never expected this. I’m just so thankful that people really seem to like the album.  
**NG:** Of course they do. How could they not? I personally only know one person who hasn’t bought the album, and he’s an odd duck, that one.  
**ZM:** [laughs] Really? Is it my old maths professor? He could never seem to stand me.  
**NG:** Well, I’m not sure about your maths professor, but Harry is a baker. We’ve talked about him a few times on the show—not that he’d know! Doesn’t even listen to the radio, that one. What kind of bloke doesn’t even listen to his best friend’s radio programme? It’s not like he’s sleeping.  
**ZM:** He’s a baker? Called Harry?  
**NG:** Yup. You were eating some of his scones earlier. Delicious, right?  
**ZM:** Is he local?  
**NG:** Nope! He’s back home in Manchester. 

[unknown noises] 

**NG:** I’m being told we only have a few minutes left, so we have to stop talking about baked goods. You have a tour planned in less than two months. Are you excited to be out on the road again?  
**ZM:** ...yeah. Always excited to see the fans, of course. Hatchi’s coming with me this tour, so that’ll be a nice piece of home when I’m so far away.  
**NG:** Anything you’d like to say to the fine fans at home?  
**ZM:** Thank you. Without you, I’d genuinely be nothing. My music means so much to me, and the fact that so many people seem to like it, to want to support me, blows my mind on a daily basis.  
**NG:** Well, folks. It’s unfortunately time to send my future husband away! We’re gonna be playing his second single from the album _badlands_ , “Heartbreaker”. It was good seeing you again, Zayn. We’ll have to set up that play date soon.  
**ZM:** Sure thing, Grimmy. Later, everyone. 

[End transcript] 

-

“Thanks, Haz, I really appreciate it! I’m so sorry to run out on you like this, but she’s got that fever and she hasn’t been looking too good the past few days, so I’ll take her to A&E and see if—”

Harry laughs. “Sarah, honestly, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Take all the time you need. You don’t even have to come back in today, just take care of Emmy, let her know I’m thinking about her. Call in tomorrow if she’s still sick and we’ll see who we can get to cover, okay?”

Looking frazzled, Sarah leans over the counter to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “You’re a good boy, Harry. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” She hurries out, scarf clutched to her chest instead of around her throat, bolting to the bus shelter a block down the road.

There wasn’t anyone else Harry could have gotten to cover Sarah’s closing shift, but he doesn’t mind, like he said. Travis was off shift since they’d both finished up their baking for the day, and Siobhán wasn’t due until after the bakery was closed proper, so it’s just Harry. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s never closed up shop by himself, before. Plus, if Mary really was grooming him to take over the business one day, it was important that Harry could show flexibility and a desire to help above and beyond, as she would say. It’s slow, after-work rush already dead, so it’ll just be a quiet few hours before he needs to lock things up.

-

Harry’s in the office when the bell over the door rings, trying to find some flyer he’s meant to get approval from Mary. He startles, knocks over a pile of folders from the desk and curses.

“Be right there!” he shouts. There’ve only been about five customers since Sarah left, and it’s an hour from closing, so he wasn’t actually expecting anyone to come by. Harry dusts his shirt off since the pile of folders sprayed a cloud of it all over everything, and heads to the front counter. He stops short half-way to the counter when he sees who’s standing there waiting for him.

Zayn.

It feels like time stands still. Harry’s heart stops with it, it must, because very suddenly, it lurches in his chest and it hurts and Harry feels like he’s spinning out of control. There’s no way Zayn is standing in his bakery. There’s no reason for him to be. Harry’s mind must be playing some sort of cruel trick on him, because it’s just not possible.

Zayn looks good. He’s taller and broader than he was before. There’s ink on his arms Harry doesn’t recognise, and his hair is different. The sides are still shaved, but Zayn has the top long, done up in a knot that looks trendy and gorgeous on him. He’s wearing a leather jacket and tight trousers and his rings alone probably cost more than Harry’s whole flat. He’s unfairly beautiful, somehow more so than when Harry saw him last, telling him he was leaving.

“Hey,” Zayn says. He’s smiling, sort of, and he takes a step towards the counter, and he’s looking Harry over like he’s taking him in, devouring him with his gaze in that way Harry hasn’t felt in years. His voice is deeper, but his accent is just as pronounced and Harry swallows, feels his throat go tight.

What the fuck is he supposed to say? It’s Zayn. _Zayn_. Harry has tried so hard not to think about him for the past five years. He’s tried and he’s failed so many times, but he’s built his life anyway, away from everything Zayn represents. Zayn left him for a record deal and never tried to contact him again. He got big and famous and _left_. And now he’s here. He’s not supposed to fucking _be_ here. 

Harry just stands there, paralysed, unsure what he’s even supposed to do. Why the fuck is Zayn in his bakery late on a Thursday, staring at him like he’s expecting something. What is he supposed to say?

The door flies open and Niall is pushing in before Harry can even figure out what to say to Zayn. “Harry! I was wondering—” His voice cuts off abruptly and Harry looks over at him, sees him staring at Zayn wide-eyed with recognition. Niall looks at Harry, then back at Zayn, like he’s trying to figure something out, and Harry wonders if his face looks as wild as he feels, if the soreness in his throat and behind his eyes can be seen by anyone. Niall looks like he’s about to say something else, and it breaks the hold on Harry that Zayn’s appearance brought.

“Hi, how are you today? Can I help you?” he asks Zayn, in this fake, cheery, bright voice he’s never heard come out of his own mouth before. His hands are shaking, but he just balls them into fists until they stop, going white-knuckled by the pressure. Zayn looks taken aback at his demeanour, and even Niall is staring at him like he’s just said something profane.

“Harry,” Zayn says softly. He doesn’t look away from Harry, doesn’t seem to notice Niall standing by the door. He steps closer to the counter and Harry sees his right hand twitch, like he’s going to reach out and touch him, so Harry takes a quick step back, tripping on the chord to the register and banging into the wall. Fuck, why does he have to be like this in front of Zayn? “Harry, fuck, are you okay?”

The concern in his voice does something to Harry, makes him feel manic and more off-balance than before. “I’m _fine_ ,” he spits out, looking between Niall and Zayn, trying to figure out what to do. He wants to run. He wants to flee to his apartment and curl up on the bed with Jane and forget this ever happened, pretend like he never saw Zayn. Niall would be curious, but he would respect Harry enough to leave it alone, maybe. 

“Harry,” Zayn says again. His voice is so full of concern, he sounds so different, but so like the boy Harry remembers talking about _forever, forever_. It’s too much, he can’t handle this.

“Sorry, Niall, I have to close early, I think. I’ll call you later, okay?” he asks, looking at Niall with as much pleading as he can muster.

Niall stares at him for a long, silent minute before nodding. He looks cautious and unsure, almost as much as Harry feels. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you later, then. Ta.” He leaves the way he came, bell ringing out his departure.

Zayn and Harry stand there, staring at one another after Niall’s left, silent now. Zayn doesn’t say his name again, and Harry doesn’t know how to interpret the look on Zayn’s face. Probably hasn’t been able to do that for a long time.

“Harry—”

“I have to close the bakery.” Harry feels like his heart is pounding in his throat, making him sound strangled. He fishes his keys from his pocket and puts them on the counter, taking his hand back before Zayn can try to touch him or anything. “You can go to my flat. I don’t want anyone seeing you here.” It’s harsh, but Harry doesn’t want anyone else knowing. Niall is bad enough. What if someone saw Zayn and tweeted about it or told a magazine or something. Harry doesn’t want to be dragged into this, not after so long.

Zayn gives him a look, like he might be hurt, but he nods and takes the keys. “Okay.”

-

Harry gives Zayn the address and locks the door after him. He puts the closed sign up and turns off the bright OPEN! sign and the lights for the front. His fingers shake as he dials Mary’s number.

“Hullo poppet!” she says as soon as she picks up. Her warm voice is almost as soothing as Harry’s mum’s. It makes something tightly coiled in his chest loosen.

“Mary, hi.” Harry feels like he can breathe again, just hearing her.

“Are you okay? You sound a bit distressed, dear.”

“Um. I had to close the shop a little early? I had some…personal. Things,” Harry says falteringly. “I don’t know if you, uh, remember. My husband. He showed up.”

Mary makes a soft noise. She was there when Harry came home, swept him into a hug and didn’t ask any questions. She just let him come to work when he was ready, assume more responsibilities when he felt he could. She never made him feel like it was his fault, just gave him a life to grow into. “Oh, darling.”

“I know Sarah’s Emmy is sick, and she might not be able to come in tomorrow, but I’ll be here. I promise. This won’t interfere with my work.”

“Dear, you take the time you need. Travis is a good worker, and Clive and I can always come down if there are any emergencies. Stay safe, Harry. I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Harry mumbles something appreciative and hangs up, resting his forehead against the cooler in the back. He should probably call his mum or Gemma, tell them what’s going on. But he doesn’t want them to worry about him. His mum almost didn’t let him come back after he appeared on her doorstep. He can only imagine what she would do now.

His phone beeps and he sees it’s a text from Louis.

_UM???? NIALL SAYS ZAYN MALIK IS IN YOUR SHOP????_

Fuck.

Harry can’t be mad that Niall told Louis, which means Liam also knows. It’s not like he told Niall not to say anything. And this is so far out of left-field of possibilities that Harry gets him talking to their friends.

 _Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll explain, I promise._

He hits send and stuffs his phone in his pocket. There’s really nothing else he can do to delay the inevitable waiting for him in his apartment, so Harry gets his coat on and shuffles outside, locking up after leaving a note for Siobhán in the kitchen.

-

Harry stands outside his apartment for a good five minutes before he can make himself try the handle. It’s unlocked, of course. Jane starts barking the moment the door clicks open, but she doesn’t rush outside like Harry would expect if Zayn let her out of her cage. When he actually comes in after shutting and locking the door, and extracting himself from his coat, he finds Zayn sat on the couch, Jane in his lap and wiggling in delight at seeing Harry. 

It feels sort of like a betrayal, but he knows Jane can’t help herself. She loves anyone who loves her back, and Zayn has always had the softest of spots for animals. Harry wonders if Zayn got any of his own, knows how much Zayn always wanted lots when they still lived together. Would have taken in every stray he saw if they would afford it. Zayn can definitely afford it, now.

Harry knows, in an off-handed sort of way, that Zayn is probably the most famous person in the world, right now. As much as he’s tried to avoid it, he’s seen Zayn’s name in grocery aisles on magazines with bold print, and he’s seen Zayn’s CDs when he walks by music shops in town. There have even been adverts for worldwide tours on the walls of the tube. He knows that where Harry spiralled out, Zayn ascended and came into his own. It doesn’t seem fair, somehow. Not that Harry thinks he deserves access to Zayn’s money or fame. He just doesn’t think it’s right that Zayn was allowed to be so happy while Harry was forced to deal with this.

Jane barks and it brings Harry out of his head. She’s looking at him and wagging her stubby tail and Harry has to smile a bit. She loves him, it’s more than evident.

“Time for dinner, right?” he asks, going to the kitchen and getting out her kibble. Jane comes crashing after him, claws scrabbling over the linoleum. Harry bends down to scratch behind her ear while she devours her food.

“She’s cute,” Zayn says. He’s standing now, leaning against the back of the couch. It’s unreasonable how good he looks, like he’s posing for some sort of advert, shining even surrounded by Harry’s tiny, ramshackle flat and used things.

“Thanks.”

Harry stays crouched down and petting Jane, more for his own comfort than hers. She sits her butt down on his foot once her food is gone and pants in his face, looking happy. 

Zayn sighs. “Look. I know this is sort of sudden, but you changed your number, and you moved from the old flat, so I didn’t know where else to look for you, how else to contact you. I’m sorry I showed up without telling you first.” He does sound sincerely sorry.

“Why did you need to contact me?” Harry asks, still not looking away from Jane. It’s easier to talk to her than to look at Zayn. Even though he tries not to, there’s anger in his voice and he can see Zayn take a step back.

“Harry,” Zayn says softly. “Will you come and sit down? I don’t want to say this to the top of your head.”

Harry gets up and tries to pretend his hands aren’t shaking again. Jane scampers between his feet as he makes his way to the couch, walking around Zayn so he doesn’t risk touching him. He doesn’t want to look at Zayn, but he can’t help it. Zayn draws his gaze, draws his focus. He always has.

Zayn sits down on the couch again and watches as Harry curls up on the old recliner he found on the stoop almost a year ago. None of the furniture in the flat is the same as the old one. Harry made sure to get rid of everything when he moved, even if it meant staying on an air-mattress for a few months. He couldn’t stomach sleeping in the same bed anymore. Zayn seems to realise this as he looks around at everything in the flat, that he doesn’t recognise anything, because it’s all different. Even the potholders by the oven were thrift store finds. Harry watches him realise this, and gets a sick sort of thrill at the way Zayn’s mouth tightens in a frown.

“I got a call from the municipal courthouse,” Zayn says, looking back at Harry with a blank expression. It’s not one Harry has ever seen before. “The records department, really. They called to tell me there had been some sort of mistake with some paperwork I’d filed. I guess the city is digitising all of their records and they found mine, that it had never been notarised or authorised or something. So according to the city of Manchester, we’re still married. Our annulment never went through.”

It feels like Harry’s stomach drops when Zayn says that, like he’s going to be sick everywhere. Jane whines in his lap and Harry forces his hands to go back to petting her. 

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Zayn sighs again. “They sent over a new paper for me to sign and they need you to, as well. Since I couldn’t tell them your number or address, they asked me to give it to you. Once you sign it, they’ll properly file it, and we’ll be annulled like we were supposed to be already. There won’t be any sort of issue, since it wasn’t our fault they misfiled it, or whatever. So that’s what I’m here for.” Zayn digs a thick packet of papers out of the expensive looking leather bag on the floor by his boots, puts them on the coffee table when Harry doesn’t make a move to take them.

They look the same, just like the ones Zayn gave to him five years ago, before he left Harry forever. It makes the same feelings of dread and confusion rush through him now. Like he’s being left all over again, which is stupid. He can’t be left _again_. It’s not like he and Zayn are together now and Zayn is trying to leave. He’s just tying up loose ends, or something. Harry doesn’t fucking know, how can he be expected to think rationally right now?

“I wrote down my number and the hotel I’m staying at in the back. Just let me know when you’ve signed them, and I’ll take care of the rest, okay?” Zayn is getting up off the couch and Harry can’t help the way his eyes follow him. He’s magnetic. Zayn puts Harry’s keys on the table next to the papers and then heads to the door. He pauses and looks back at Harry, looks like he’s going to say something, then shakes his head. “It’s good seeing you, Harry. You look well. Text me.”

Then he’s gone. Like he was never even there at all, but Harry knows better. He can smell Zayn’s expensive cologne all over the flat, like he looked around before Harry got home. Touched things, imprinted himself on Harry’s life. He can see the fucking evidence of Zayn’s arrival on his table, staring at him like it’s mocking him for trying to move on. Failing to move on.

Maybe this is his punishment for not moving on right. Maybe this is what he gets because he thought he could have a real life.

There’s a knock on the door and Harry wonders if it’s Zayn again, come back to tell him something else that will destroy Harry’s world.

“Harry? Your door is unlocked, so we’re coming in,” Liam says while he opens the door. Louis and Niall are right behind him, looking around curiously, like they expect Zayn to still be here. How long has it even been since Zayn left? How long has Harry been staring at those papers?

“Harry, mate, you look like shit.” Niall crouches down in front of Harry. He’s petting Jane and looking sad, which isn’t right. Niall never looks sad, especially not when he’s petting Jane. “What’s going on?”

Louis perches on the couch next to Liam and he’s actually visibly quivering. “How the fuck do you know Zayn Malik? Niall said you looked like you’d seen a ghost, but not in the ‘a celebrity just came to my bakery’ way. More like the ‘I’ve just seen my long-lost brother’ way.”

Niall makes a face. “Sorry, I was just so flustered, I accidentally blurted it out to them.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says. He feels far away. He never even meant for these lads to ever know. “Zayn and I were friends, I guess. I knew him before he got famous. But we haven’t spoken in over five years.”

“Why didn’t you ever say?” Liam asks. He’s got one of Louis’ hands between his own, petting over his knuckles to calm him down. It’s such a simple gesture, but Harry has to look away from it, especially right now. Jealousy burns like acid in his throat and he hates it. He hates being envious of what his friends have. “Knowing a world famous celebrity is kind of a big deal, right?”

“It’s definitely a big fucking deal.”

“Louis, shut up, Harry is obviously uncomfortable with this.”

Harry shoots Niall a grateful look. “I never told you because it wasn’t something I wanted anyone to know.”

“It’s not like you were fucking or anything.” Harry is silent for so long that Louis’ eyes go wide. “Were you fucking? Did you fuck Zayn Malik? Were you _dating_?”

Harry’s heart speeds up and he looks at Liam, notices him noticing the paperwork on the table. Liam’s eyes go just as wide and he looks up at Harry, mouth dropping open.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Harry lurches up, Jane spilling from his lap into Niall’s with frantic barking and Harry stumbles to the only other room in the flat, locking the door and sliding down to sit on the tile with his back against the door. His breathing picks up and he knows he’s edging into hyperventilating, that he has to calm down or he’ll have a panic attack. Harry gets his phone out of his pocket and calls the first number he can think of.

“Styles! Light of my life! Fire of my loins! What has you calling so late at night?”

Nick’s voice flows through Harry and he breathes out harshly, shutting his eyes and letting his head smack against the wood. “Nick.”

“Harry?” Nick’s overly-cheerful tone turns serious quickly. Harry has never called him like this, frantic and freaking out. He’s never let Nick hear or see him like that. “What’s going on?”

Harry fists his free hand in his curls, tugging on them harshly. “My ex-husband showed up. He said our annulment never went through and he has these papers for me to sign and I feel like I’m going to throw up.” Harry’s stomach has never felt as sour as it does right now. 

“Your. You have an ex-husband?” Nick pauses, like he doesn’t know what to say. “You never told me you had an ex-husband?”

“I didn’t.” Harry laughs and it’s choked up and it’s only then he realises he’s crying. Has probably been crying since he dialled Nick’s number. It comes out of him, then, in great heaving sobs, back scraping the door because he can’t control himself. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry, I should have told you, but I was ashamed. He left and I was so stupid and I just wanted to forget, but he was _here_ , Nick. He was in my apartment. I don’t know what to _do_.”

“Harry, Harry, it’s okay, calm down. Are you alone? Is he still there?” Nick’s voice is soothing, the way Harry imagines it would have been if Harry had ever let this out to him before.

“The lads are here. He left, and they showed up and they have all these questions, I—”

“It’s okay, Harry. You didn’t have to tell anyone, you have the right to keep some parts of you secret. We’ll figure it out, okay? Do you want me to come up there?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no, you’ve got work in the morning. Can you come this weekend, maybe? It’ll probably be sorted out, but I’d like to see you.” Harry sniffs hard, wipes at his damp face.

“Of course. Of course I’ll be there this weekend, don’t you worry. We’ll sort this out, duck.”

Harry laughs, still a little wet. “Thanks, Nick. Guess I have to go face the music out there.” He wants to scoff at that, but it would be wet and gross, probably. “See you this weekend.”

“I’ll see you this weekend. Take care of yourself, Harry.” Nick sounds so fond, it almost hurts. Makes Harry feel all raw inside. 

They ring off and Harry gets up and goes to the sink. He splashes water in his face and then dries off with the hand towel. When he looks at the mirror, the Harry that looks back seems devastated, with puffy eyes and bitten lips. 

“Pull yourself together,” he murmurs. When he feels like he can be a real person again, Harry leaves the bathroom, not surprised to see the lads still sat in the living room, all looking at him.

“We didn’t mean to make you cry,” Liam says awkwardly. He’s very studiously not looking at the papers on the table, even though they both know he knows.

Harry shakes his head and goes to the couch, falling down into the place between Liam and Louis that they’ve left for him. Niall is perched on the arm next to Louis, Jane in his lap. He looks so sad, like he’s responsible for everything, which isn’t right.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, curling into Liam’s arms when he opens them, and sighing at Louis’ feet in his lap. “It’s not your fault. I never told you, and having it all come back out of nowhere, having everyone know all at once, it’s like my worst nightmare.”

Niall makes a soft noise and lets Jane go to walk all over everyone’s laps until she gets to Harry’s. She whines and butts at him until he holds her and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t mean to nose into your secret, Haz.”

Harry reaches out and touches Niall’s hand. “It’s not your fault, really. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret from the people that matter.”

“So does that mean you’re going to tell us what happened?”

“ _Louis_.”

Louis’ tone actually makes Harry laugh a little. “It’s fine, Liam. I think I owe you guys that.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and finally tells them the truth.

-

Harry makes the lads leave at around midnight, since he does have work to go to in the morning, no matter how many times Mary texts him telling him he doesn’t have to come in. None of them seem to want to leave Harry alone, but he wants to be alone with his thoughts. He also didn’t like the pitying looks they gave him when he told them about Zayn leaving five years ago. Harry doesn’t like pity, doesn’t think it’s very useful in the long run. 

Liam made Harry programme Zayn’s number into his phone, just in case, even though Louis told him to just burn the whole lot of papers. If Harry was still married to Zayn, then Zayn would owe him half his fortune in the divorce. Niall laughed at that and Liam frowned, but Harry assured them all he didn’t want a single penny from Zayn. Not one pound. He didn’t want _anything_ from Zayn, other than for him to stay out of his life.

So now Harry is lying in bed, Jane snoring in his left ear, wide awake because his brain won’t stop going over things. His phone is on and there’s a new text waiting, already addressed to Zayn. He wants to say so many things, ask so many questions, but he also doesn’t want to initiate anything. Doesn’t want Zayn to think he’s okay, or that he wants to be friends or something else ludicrous. Plus, if he texts Zayn, Zayn will have his number, and Harry doesn’t want that.

Harry turns his phone all the way off and puts it on the bedside table so he’s not tempted. He turns his back to the living room, where the stack of papers is still waiting for him. He doesn’t let his mind think about anything.  
-

Mary is at the bakery when Harry gets there, even though four am is way too early for her now she’s given day to day operations over to Harry. He’s surprised Clive isn’t there as well, throwing dough and getting the ovens ready.

“You really don’t have to be here,” Harry says, tying his apron on. Travis has his head bowed over his work, cheeks flushed pink. He knows Travis is a little intimidated by Mary; that he wants to make her proud more than anything else in the world. Mary is the mother-figure he never had, so he always gets nervous around here.

“Nonsense,” Mary says brusquely. “I’ve known you for almost six years now, Harry Styles. I know what it did to you the last time that boy was in your life. I don’t want you working yourself half to death like you tried to before, do you hear me? We don’t need a week’s worth of tough, over-beaten bread again. I want you to take the week off. You deserve a vacation; you certainly haven’t had one in long enough. We can manage here without you, darling. Travis is a good boy, he can handle it.”

Travis’ flush darkens and he watches them with wonder. He wasn’t here before, when Harry came back a wreck and tried to throw himself into work to the point that he almost ended up in the hospital from exhaustion. Harry doesn’t tell Travis personal details, so hearing anything like this must assuage his curiosity.

“Mary—”

“I’ll have none of your back sass, dear,” Mary says, voice quite firm. For a woman in her sixties, she sure has a lot of stamina. “You’ll go home and you’ll take care of yourself and you’ll deal with this. When you’re done, you’ll come back and we’ll welcome you with open arms. Until then, I don’t want to see you in this bakery.”

Harry stares at Mary, pleading open on his face. He doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment and deal with this. He wants to work and escape from reality. But Mary is standing with her hands on her hips, looking tough and a bit like his mum when he’s being stubborn and won’t listen to her good advice.

“I’ll call you, then,” Harry says weakly. “When I’ve finished with this. It shouldn’t take more than a day or so.”

Mary nods. “Good. Then you can take the rest of the week for yourself.”

Harry slinks out of the bakery, unhappy about it. He feels like he’s being forced by too many people to do things he doesn’t want to do at all. It’s not fair. At least he can spend the week on his couch cuddling Jane and ignoring the whole world.

-

It’s easy to ignore the knock on the door. Less easy to ignore Jane barking her head off at the noise, but Harry manages. He doesn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. He just wants to stay curled up on his couch, cuddling with his dog and staring at the terrible paint job on the wall. Louis had brought over his collector’s edition of _F.R.I.E.N.D.S._ and told Harry to keep it for as long as he wanted. He’d also had a tub of vanilla berry gelato that Harry likes. Harry just hasn’t felt up to doing anything other than moping.

The banging continues and Harry looks over at the door idly. It’s not one of the lads or they would have used their keys. It’s not Mary or Travis or they would have called. Harry isn’t actually interested in talking to anyone else, so they can just fuck off.

“Harry! I know you’re in there, I can see the lights! Will you please just open the door? Your neighbours are going to think I’m crazy and call the cops or something!”

Harry bolts upright and Jane leaps from his arms to scratch at the door. Why the hell is Zayn outside his flat? He looks at the stack of papers on the table, the ones he tried to make himself sign as soon as he got home to start his exile. Every time he tried to pick up a pen, his hand started trembling, so he just stopped trying. Does Zayn expect him to have signed them already? So he can just go back to his life and go back to forgetting Harry was ever a part of it? He told Harry to call when he’d signed the papers, but maybe he got impatient.

“Harry!”

Somehow, Harry is up off the couch and opening the door. He doesn’t want Zayn causing a fuss and getting his neighbours involved; they would definitely recognise him and then wonder why a world famous celebrity was pounding on Harry’s front door.

Zayn holds up a bag of takeaway. “You haven’t changed your Thai order, have you?”

“What?” Harry blinks, but Zayn stays standing in front of him, holding a bag that’s starting to go transparent from the grease. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s just me at the hotel, and I know I came here sort of abruptly last night, so I brought over lunch. Figured we could maybe talk a bit?” Zayn sounds hopeful and Harry just does not get it. 

There’s no reason Zayn should be here right now, holding a bag of food and asking to talk. Zayn hadn’t wanted to talk for five and a half years before today, so why should he want to now?

“I’ll sign the papers. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to try to take your money, or something,” Harry says. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Zayn’s brows furrow and the hand holding the bag goes back to his side. “I didn’t think you would,” he says. “You would have done it before, sold your story the moment I hit it big if you were going to. But I know you’re not like that. You never have been.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he says before he can stop himself.

They’re both silent and Harry doesn’t get why Zayn’s expression looks sort of wistful and hurt. “I used to.”

Jane finally wiggles her way out from where Harry trapped her between his leg and the door and she launches herself at Zayn. He smiles when he sees her, bends down to pick her up with his free hand. She bathes his face with her tongue, the traitor. Zayn looks at Harry over his traitor dog’s head.

“So. Lunch?”

-

Lunch is just as awkward as Harry thought it would be, if he ever thought that he would be having lunch with his ex-husband that he hadn’t seen in over five years. The same ex-husband that broke his heart and left him so he could become some famous recording artist that everyone adored worldwide. Only now they’re not actually ex-husbands, they’re still married and everything is confusing and awkward and Harry hates it.

Zayn chatters in a way Harry never remembers him doing. He was never one for small talk or filling awkward silences in. That was Harry’s thing; rambling until Zayn laughed and got him to shut up with his mouth. Now, Zayn either doesn’t notice how Harry feels, or he doesn’t care and he’s just ignoring it.

The food is good, at least. Harry is surprised Zayn remembered his order, even more so that he remembered which Thai place they used to go to when they had a little extra to splurge. Harry hasn’t been back there himself in a long time, and it reminds him of them sitting around their shitty table, eating straight from the containers and complaining about their noisy neighbours downstairs.

Now, Zayn just talks about the renovations at his new place, and his pets, and how his family is doing. He seems perfectly fine, like he hasn’t been affected by what happened at all. Like this isn’t awkward for him in the least. Maybe it’s not. Maybe Harry is just this hidden footnote in Zayn’s past that will be forgotten completely once the annulment goes through.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks. His pad thai is sitting heavily in his stomach, even though it tasted great. “You know I’ll sign the papers. Why do you even want to talk to me?”

Zayn pulls on his bottom lip, a nervous gesture Harry remembers. “Why wouldn’t I? We used to be friends. Of course I would want to talk to you.”

Harry actually laughs at that. “Zayn. We haven’t been friends for a long time. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“We—”

The door flies open and Nick waltzes in, bags clutched in his hand. “I know we said weekend, but I was worried and I had nothing to do today, so I.” He pauses, takes in Harry and Zayn sitting across from one another at the table. “I think I might be hallucinating, because there’s a musical legend at your table,” he finishes. He lets his bags drop to the floor with a thump and automatically bends down to scratch Jane’s ears but he’s still staring at them in disbelief.

“Hi, Nick,” Zayn finally says, finally sounding as awkward as the situation fully calls for. “It’s good to see you again.”

Harry stands up, unsure if he should go over to Nick. Nick solves that for him by swooping in and dragging him into a fierce hug. “Are you okay?” Nick murmurs into his neck. Harry appreciates he didn’t say anything for Zayn to hear. Harry nods and tightens his arms around Nick’s waist, closing his eyes for the briefest moment so he can pretend none of this is happening.

When Nick pulls away, he gives Zayn another glance over. “Sort of surprised to see you here, Malik,” he says coolly. He’s obviously read the situation correctly, has filled in all the gaps Harry left in his history.

Zayn stands and holds his hand out to shake Nick’s. “I didn’t know you knew Harry this well.”

“I didn’t know you were formerly married to my best friend.” He says it to cut and Harry winces.

“Touché.” Zayn runs his fingers through his hair, out of the topknot and loose around his eyes. “I know it’s pretty big news, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say that on the radio.”

Nick narrows his eyes. “I don’t tend to go around telling my friends’ secrets on national news, especially if they’re hurting because of them.” Harry knows that Nick can be cruel, can absolutely devastate someone if they’ve hurt his friends. Harry has never felt more honoured to be considered one of Nick’s.

Zayn actually looks startled, like he wasn’t expecting it. Nick can play up the camp for the radio, and Harry has seen him make friends with everyone around him in seconds flat, but Harry also knows how Nick gets when he thinks someone has fucked up. Zayn clearly doesn’t.

“I think I should go,” he says slowly, eyeing the arm Nick still has slung around Harry’s hips. “You two had plans. I didn’t mean to interrupt them.” He gives Harry this almost desperate sort of look. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what to say to convince Zayn to leave him alone if nothing has worked thus far. He watches Zayn leave, shoulders hunched up by his ears, hands balled up and shoved in his jacket pockets. Harry sighs when the door closes and sags into Nick’s side.

“That was terrible,” he says.

Nick bumps his hip and glares. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Harry almost wishes he hadn’t fucking kept it a secret if it means he has to keep telling it to everyone.

-

It turns out that most of the second bag Nick brought is stuffed with cheap liquor and wine. They get spectacularly drunk until Harry stops feeling the ache in his chest and feels like he’s floating instead.

Nick is insanely curious and wants to know everything, so Harry tells him the whole story, from start to finish, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Nick deserves to know, just like Louis and Liam and Niall deserved to know. He just hates admitting how messed up his life is, how pathetic he is, how much of a cliché.

“You’re not pathetic,” Nick says. They’re sprawled on the bed, Jane between them already snoring. She’s had an exciting day. The lights are dimmed and Harry thinks he could pass out and have absolutely no dreams and it would be amazing.

“It’s not your fault he left,” Nick continues. “If he didn’t want to work through the hard part. If he wanted to just take the easy way out.” He pets Harry’s curls just the right way to make Harry boneless.

Why couldn’t Harry have just fallen in love with Nick? Or with Niall? With anyone else? Why did he have to fall for the one person in the world who didn’t care enough not to leave him behind? Why was he so stupid?

“You’re not stupid, love.”

Harry didn’t even realise he was rambling out loud. “I’m sorry I never told you,” he says softly. “I didn’t want anyone else to know. I just wanted to live my life and forget any of it ever happened.”

Nick sighs into Harry’s hair. “Unfortunately, life doesn’t work like that, duck.” He pulls Harry in for a proper cuddle. “It’s hard and unfair and bad things happen to good people.”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly. He still wishes none of it had ever happened.

-

“So you’re stalking me now?” Harry asks, locking the door after he shuts it. Jane tugs on her leash, trying to get at Zayn. He shouldn’t even be surprised to see him standing outside Harry’s flat, smoking a cigarette and looking like he just stepped out of a magazine spread.

Zayn stubs his cigarette out and leans down to pet Jane. “It’s not really stalking,” he says easily. “I’ve been stalked before. It’s pretty scary.”

Harry just gives him an unimpressed look and starts to walk away, Jane bounding ahead of him. She knows the way to the dog park better than him, probably. Zayn falls into step beside Harry, hands stuffed into the leather jacket that Harry suspects is actually fused to his skin.

“What are your plans for today?” Zayn asks. His Doc Martens look brand new, no scuff marks or paint or anything on them like Zayn’s old pair had. 

Everything about him looks shiny and new. Harry remembers him coming home with thrift shop finds, proud and excited to wear something with history. Now he looks like he’s wearing clothes that probably aren’t actually in any stores. Harry can’t stop noticing all these things, even though he doesn’t want to. There’s no point in comparing the Zayn he knew to the one here now.

“A whole lot of nothing since Mary banned me from work while I’m dealing with this,” he gestures at the space between the two of them. “So probably taking my dog on more walks and spending time in places you can’t find me.”

Zayn actually looks amused. “You know I can probably find you pretty easily if I really tried.”

“That’s actually pretty creepy.” Harry doesn’t doubt Zayn could. Celebrities can do whatever they want, can’t they? So why the hell did he even need to personally come and bother Harry for? Couldn’t he have just gotten some sort of personal assistant to come do it? Some scary body guard that could loom over Harry until he signed the papers? 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Harry asks when they get to the dog park. He unclips Jane’s leash and watches her tear off to go make friends. He can’t help but smile, watching her. Nothing can keep her down for very long.

“What’s your dog’s name, anyway?” Zayn asks, completely ignoring Harry’s question.

Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, a little startled to find him staring right back. “Jane Pawsten.”

Zayn’s startled laugh makes Harry actually turn to look at him. “Jane Pawsten? Really? You still make those terrible puns?”

“It’s not a terrible pun,” Harry says, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “It’s a great name, you just don’t get it.”

“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. I have loved none but you,” Zayn says softly and Harry’s heart lurches. “ _Persuasion_ was always your favourite of her novels, wasn’t it?” Zayn asks when Harry remains silent.

His memory startles Harry. Zayn is looking at him, like he expects something, but Harry doesn’t know what he wants. “It is,” he finally says, voice shakier than he wanted it to be. “I didn’t think you would remember that.”

Zayn takes out a battered pack of cigarettes and shakes one out, lighting it with a metal flip lighter and sucking on it while the cherry burns bright red. He tips his head back to release a stream of grey smoke into the air, neck long and taught. His eyes are closed, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

“I remember a lot of things.”

-

Nick is on the phone when Harry gets back with Jane, shaky but without Zayn, thankfully. He’s chewing on his thumb and when he spots Harry he looks guilty. Harry doesn’t like the look on his face, knows he’s not going to like the next thing that comes out of Nick’s mouth. Nick ends his call with a hushed goodbye and stares at Harry, eyes a bit wild.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, already getting tense. He’s had such a shit time of it lately that he wouldn’t be surprised if Nick told him something terrible, like the media found him out and are coming for him right this second.

“Pig ate something weird and she has to be taken to the emergency clinic to make sure she doesn’t need surgery. My sitter doesn’t actually do things like that, so she asked me to come back.”

Harry’s shoulders slump down in relief. He wasn’t actually expecting that. Nick seems to take his reaction poorly, though.

“I can call Aimee and have her do it. I don’t want to leave you if you still need me here.” He sounds worried, though, and Harry knows how frantic he gets whenever anything goes wrong with Pig, especially after everything with Puppy.

“No, it’s okay,” Harry says, turning to watch Jane as she digs one of her plush toys from under the couch and starts to savage it. “It’s okay. You should go. Make sure she’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Nick fiddles with his phone. “Are you sure?”

Taking pity on him, Harry takes the few steps forward that separate them and tugs Nick into a tight hug. Feeling left out, Jane whines and bullies her way between their legs, trying to get hugged as well.

“Honestly, Nick, it’s all right. Go make sure your dog doesn’t need emergency surgery.” Harry smiles. “I’m glad you got to come at all. You’re a really good friend.”

“Best friend?” Nick asks. He looks so hopeful that Harry laughs, can’t even help it.

“Of course. You’re my best friend, Nicholas Grimshaw. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

Nick preens and pulls back, fluffing up his hair. “Well it’s about time you recognised it.” He drops the act quickly, though, and tugs Harry in for another hug. “I’ll call you as soon as I know. If you want me to come back, I will. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nothing actually got unpacked from Nick’s bags other than the booze, and most of that is gone, so it doesn’t take Nick very long to get his things gathered. He shoots Harry another anxious look, but leaves when Harry shoos him away.

Harry sighs after he’s shut his door, goes over to the couch and throws himself onto it. Jane hops up and worms her way under his arm. Harry pets her soft muzzle and tries to convince himself it’s better if he’s alone.

-

“You need to come to the pub and just get wasted,” Niall says cheerfully.

Harry has his phone between his shoulder and his ear while he tries to finish his stir-fry. “I don’t think getting plastered every night until this is over is the best policy,” he says, trying not to sound so sceptical. Jane whines at his feet, begging for scraps and he gently knees her away. “It’s my dinner, not yours. Go eat your kibble.” She looks at him like he’s betrayed her and slinks off to paw at her bowl like it’s poison. “You ate it fine this morning,” he mumbles as he turns off the burner.

“Stop being mean to my dog, Styles.” Niall sounds like he’s eating and Harry sticks his tongue out. 

“You’re not the one who picks up her poop.”

“She does love me best, though.”

Harry grumbles and plates his food, bringing it over to the table and ignoring Jane’s pathetic posturing.

“Seriously though, come down when you’re done eating. It’ll be good to see your face.” Niall’s sincerity is heart-breaking sometimes.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t think I’ll drink, but I’ll come.”

Niall whoops loud enough that Harry jerks his head back, sending his phone clattering down to the table. “Bring my dog!” Niall shouts, voice tiny from the distance. He’s hug up by the time Harry picks his phone back up again, ready to tell him Jane is _his_ dog.

Harry rolls his eyes and shuts his phone, putting it on the table and picking up his fork. He won’t admit it to anyone, but he’s kind of glad for the distraction.

-

Of course, Zayn shows up when Niall is trying to convince Harry to take a shot of Goldschläger that Harry very much does not want or need. Louis and Liam are there, too, in a silent show of support that Harry appreciates. 

Harry laughs, pushing the shot glass away even though it makes some of the horrible liquor inside spill onto his fingers. “Absolutely not! Niall, it’s vile!” He giggles at the unintentional rhyme. He might have been convinced to have a few more pints than he’d originally planned on.

“Uh-oh,” Louis says softly at his side, looking at the door. Harry twists to follow his gaze and feels his smile drop when he spots Zayn looking around curiously.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Liam whispers, or tries to, at least. They’ve probably all had more to drink than they meant to, but none of them have work in the morning and Niall can be amazingly persuasive.

“He’s stalking me,” Harry says. Zayn spots them and walks over, obviously wary from the way they’re all looking at him. Not like he shouldn’t be used to being stared at wherever he goes, Harry thinks bitterly to himself.

Thankfully the pub only has a few regulars, none of whom seem the type to know who’s on the Top 40 charts. It’s amazing the place even stays in business with how slow it usually is.

Niall leans over the bar and pokes Zayn in the chest. “You stalking Harry?” he asks, voice actually menacing in a way Harry didn’t know he could make it. It makes him warm with pride to know Niall cares about him enough to sound that way.

Zayn looks taken aback. “What? No, of course not. This is purely a coincidence.” He shoots Harry a look when he snorts. “How could I pass up a Tolkien-named pub? This place wasn’t around when I lived here.”

“A likely excuse,” Niall says, still pointing. He might be suspicious, but Niall is nothing if not a good bartender. “What’ll you have?”

“Whatever you like best.”

Niall turns to mix something and Harry doesn’t warn Zayn that it’s going to be the most expensive drink on the menu. He doesn’t deserve advanced warning. Zayn slips into the seat beside Harry while Niall is making his drink and looks at him, smiling.

“These your friends?”

“No, we’re his sober companions,” Louis drawls sarcastically. Harry looks at him in time to catch his exaggerated eye roll and he has to stop himself from laughing at it.

“What was it like working with Drake?” Liam asks out of nowhere. Liam, Harry now knows, is actually a big fan of Zayn’s. Or was. Harry isn’t sure on his current stance.

“ _Liam_ ,” Louis hisses, elbowing Liam in the ribs and ignoring his grunt of pain. “You’re not supposed to fraternize with the enemy.”

“Is he the enemy, then?”

“Obviously!”

Zayn clears his throat, getting their attention. Liam looks excited to talk to him, but like he’s trying to hide it, and Louis is just glaring. “While I’m sure I deserve whatever you’re thinking about me, I can tell you that Drake was really awesome. Very humble and down-to-earth. He’s a great guy.”

Liam has that hero worship look on his face again. “That’s so cool.” Even Louis looks reluctantly impressed. “I don’t know if I could stay humble if I worked with all the people you have. I’d be going mad, just yelling about meeting Jay-Z anytime anyone asked me a question.”

“I still think it’s mad that my idols invite me over for cookouts, you know?” Zayn asks. His cheeks are a little flushed, like he’s embarrassed and maybe a little pleased. “I never expected it to turn out like this.”

“I’m sure everyone feels that way, too.” Harry doesn’t even know he’s speaking until everyone is looking at him. 

The lads are back to that awkward, pitying look they gave him before and Zayn looks surprised, hurt. Like he has any right, when he’s going to backyard barbeques with fucking Rihanna and Harry had to choose between dog food and groceries a few months ago when he had to get a plumber in.

Harry taps the bar and stands up. “I think I’m gonna go home. Don’t feel like partying much anymore.”

“We can walk you home—” Louis starts but Harry shakes his head.

“Don’t let me ruin your night. I’ll call you later.”

Niall is trying to tell him something, but Harry doesn’t want to listen. He just goes for his coat from the rack by the door and leaves. It’s not his friends’ fault that he can’t handle this situation. That just seeing Zayn smile and laugh and talk about his fantastic new life makes something bitter and angry grow in his throat, ready to burst. 

“Harry, wait!” Zayn catches his arm, tugging on it when Harry tries to wrench away. “Harry, c’mon. I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I’ll leave, so you can hang out with your friends.”

“Why are you even sticking around?” Harry spits out, turning to face Zayn. He feels like he’s boiling over with anger, something he hasn’t really ever let himself feel. “Didn’t you hate this place? Couldn’t wait to escape as soon as you could, right? Leave me and everything else behind when you did.”

Zayn actually takes a step back at that, clearly surprised at the fury in Harry’s voice. Harry wonders if his face reflects it. “I never hated Manchester or my life here,” he says. “I just didn’t let it hold me back.”

“Hold you back, of course.” Harry pulls his arm from Zayn’s grip. “Because that’s what I was? Just something that was holding you back.” Harry’s cheeks feel hot and he’s not sure if it’s the anger or the shame heating them.

“Harry, I—”

“I didn’t fucking hold you back, Zayn. I supported everything you did. I worked myself to the _bone_ to make sure you could keep your club gigs and have all the time you needed for your music. I would have kept supporting you, even from half a world away. I never held you back.” Harry wouldn’t be saying any of this if he wasn’t past tipsy, honest words tumbling from his lips faster than he can wonder if he should stop talking.

Zayn has that pained look back on his face. Harry can’t find it in him to be anything other than glad. He deserves to hurt as much as Harry did, _does_ , over the tragic, fucked-up events of his life. 

“I came here because _you_ were here. Not my friends, not my family. Not even my school. _You_ , Zayn. You promised me forever and you couldn’t even give me a full year, because then it would have to mean something, right? You couldn’t just throw everything away and say oh well and never look back again.” The world gets blurry and Harry wipes at his eyes quickly, frustrated that he can’t seem to stop crying when he talks about this. “Did you ever even think about me? Before some stupid misfiled paperwork forced you back? Did you ever wonder how I was? How fucking lonely and heartbroken I was because of you?”

“I…”

Harry shakes his head, doesn’t give Zayn a chance to speak. “I don’t care, Zayn. You’re not part of my life, anymore, and that was _your_ choice, not mine. You left. You don’t get to come back and make my friends like you and pretend you didn’t ruin my fucking life. I’ll sign your papers and then you have to leave me alone forever. You’re good at doing that anyway, aren’t you?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, which doesn’t exactly surprise Harry. He leaves Zayn there in front of the pub, doesn’t look back once as he walks home. There’s no point in looking back.

-

Sunday is quiet. Harry spends it holed up in his flat, cuddling Jane and trying not to think about anything while he marathons _F.R.I.E.N.D.S._ He doesn’t have to go to bed early, since he’s not working in the morning, so he orders takeaway and gets a six pack when he goes to pick it up. Who cares if he gets sloppy drunk by himself and ends up crying into his kebab? No one has to know.

He ignores the increasingly dramatic texts his friends send him. He doesn’t want to say anything to them that will make them pity him more, or decide he can’t take care of himself or whatever. He just wants to be alone.

Niall solves that for him on Monday when he comes barging in. Harry startles and falls off the couch while Niall looks at him in disgust.

“Have you even showered this weekend?” Niall asks, eyeing the empty cans and takeaway containers on the floor. 

“No,” Harry says mutinously. His hair is greasy and the curls aren’t as springy as they should be.

Niall snorts. “Then stop being a lazy arse and go clean yerself up. I’m sure you haven’t taken Jane out properly since Saturday, then?” He’s got Jane in his arms and she looks happier than she has in days. It makes Harry feel guilty. He doesn’t let himself get this way, to the point where the people around him are affected.

“Okay.”

The shower actually makes him feel more human, which Harry won’t admit to anyone. He spends longer in it than usual, just letting the hot water pound against his back. It’s soothing. Like it’s washing away all the anger and sadness that’s been surrounding him like a miasma for days.

There’s a change of clothing on the bed for him and Niall is cleaning up the living room and kitchen, which he didn’t have to, and makes Harry feel even worse. His friends really are the best. He doesn’t deserve them.

“C’mon, then, we’re going to the dog park,” Niall says, tipping takeaway containers into the trash while Harry just stands there, hair dripping water onto the floor. “Get dressed.”

They head out to the dog park, Jane tugging at the leash in Niall’s hand. His other one is linked with Harry’s, fingers tangled together. It’s such a small gesture, but it fills Harry’s chest with comfort. There’s no room for hate when Niall laughs in his face and ruffles his hair and drags him over to the swings while Jane goes mad in the park.

Harry swings lazily, toes dragging in the grass, while Niall whoops and goes higher and higher next to him. He watches as Jane sniffs and marks her usual spots and makes friends with a Doberman and a basset hound. 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Niall says after a few minutes of swinging and silence. He’s stopped going so high, momentum taking him back to a standstill next to Harry. “I knew you had some hang-ups and times when you got a sad, faraway look in your eyes, but I didn’t know that you felt like this.”

“I try not to let myself,” Harry tells him. He tips his head back to look at the sky. Grey and overcast. “I don’t like feeling like this, feeling so much anger towards him. It’s toxic. I don’t want to live my life with him hanging over me.”

“But you have. It’s obvious you have. You’re not exactly happy, are you? It’s like you’re afraid to be truly happy, because you’re scared something like this will happen to you again. But Harry, if you live with that sort of fear, with that sort of detachment, are you even really living?”

Harry looks over at Niall. He’s never heard him be so wise, before. Niall has a soft, sad smile on his face. 

“You don’t let others in, not really. I’m not the only person who’s tried to love you, you have to know that. If you won’t let other people love you, if you won’t love them fully in return, then what’s the point? He’s won, hasn’t he? If you just give up on loving?”

It’s the first time either of them has brought up what might have been, between them. If Harry wasn’t such a head case. If he wasn’t so afraid of opening up just to get hurt again. Harry just doesn’t want to get hurt again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. His throat feels tight and his eyes burn. He’s tired of crying so much.

Niall actually laughs. He stands up and goes behind Harry, holding onto the chains by his head and leaning down over him. Harry looks up. “Don’t say sorry, idiot. Do better.”

-

They go back to Niall’s flat above the pub and Niall makes lunch. Jane loves Niall’s flat more than Harry’s, since he has a special bed for her and loads of toys and treats that she gets when she comes over. She’s asleep in her bed now, belly round with treats and the bone she’s been gnawing on protectively clutched between her paws.

Harry curls up next to Niall’s side as they eat their pasta on the couch, watching whatever match is on the telly. It could be awkward, between them, with Niall’s confession, but they don’t let it. Niall’s free with his love in a way Harry just isn’t anymore, but they’re still friends, and Harry won’t let anything ruin that.

“You know, he isn’t that bad a person,” Niall says during a commercial break, slurping up his spaghetti. “I mean, he’s shit for what he did, but it seems like he’s trying to make up for it.”

Harry feels his hackles rise before he can stop himself, defensive even though Niall isn’t actually picking a side that isn’t his. “I don’t want him to make up for it. I just want him to leave me and my life alone.”

Niall knocks his shoulder into Harry’s. “I didn’t say you had to be his best friend or anything. Just maybe don’t make him cry when he’s trying to apologise.”

“What?”

“He came back to the pub after he ran after you. Right mess he was, eyes all glassy and face blotchy. Said he forgot to pay for his drink. Louis was all hostile cat, you know him, and Liam was trying to put up a good face, but he’s a sucker for a teary face, that one.” Niall scrapes the bottom of his bowl for scraps then puts it on the coffee table. When he looks at Harry, there’s no judgement on his face. “Dunno what you said to him, but it obviously wrecked him up. Wouldn’t say what happened, but he stayed a while, had a few drinks with me’n the lads.”

“So you’re all best friends now?” Harry asks. He tries not to sound bitter but it’s obviously not working since Niall laughs again.

“No, arse.” He jostles Harry into cuddling tighter. “Just makes you wonder why he even came to hand-deliver those papers, yeah? Couldn’t he have gotten one of his lawyers or representatives or whatever to do it? So he wouldn’t have to see you again?”

It touches on exactly what Harry thought, that first night, but he doesn’t like hearing it come from someone else. “If that makes you think I should forgive him—”

“I never said you had to do that. What he did was shit. I know it, you know it, and he sure as hell knows it by now. But punishing him when he’s trying to, I dunno, reach out? What does that do? Does it make you feel better? Does it negate what happened? Or does it just make everyone the same level of miserable without anyone growing up and learning from it.”

Harry butts his head against Niall’s shoulder. “When did you get so wise,” he mumbles.

Niall grins and ruffles Harry’s curls. “Always was. Y’just didn’t want t’listen.”

-

That night, Harry sits on his couch, Jane in his lap. The packet of papers is on the coffee table in front of him, daring him to sign them. The huge _Certificate of Absolute Divorce or Annulment_ across the top mocking him. There are little coloured post-it notes on the places he’s supposed to sign next to the place Zayn already has. His signature is different now, all looping twists and turns that Harry’s never seen before. The last time he saw Zayn’s signature it was sloppy and barely legible on their marriage certificate.

He just has to do this one thing and then he can go back to his normal life. He’ll try to do better, like Niall said. He’ll move on. But he has to sign these stupid papers or he’ll be trapped in this constant loop of anger and regret and sadness forever.

Harry picks up his pen and sets it to the paper, right where his signature needs to go. His other information has already been filled in by a painstakingly careful hand. He just has to sign and then it’s all over. Just one signature and his life is his again.

“Fuck.” 

Harry drops the pen and buries his face in his hands. 

-

The bar/restaurant attached to the hotel Zayn is staying at is mostly empty. No one gives him a second glance or even notices the way Harry slinks to the booth near the back. Zayn looks up in surprise when he sees Harry standing beside the booth, awkwardly rocking from foot to foot.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks. He’s got a tumbler of dark liquid in his hand.

“I can go.” Harry would like to go. Coming here was the worst decision he’s ever made, probably. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Zayn’s hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s wrist, but he drops it as soon as Harry looks down at it. “Sorry, no. It’s okay. You can stay. I’d like you to.”

Even though it’s probably a terrible idea, Harry slides into the booth on the opposite side when Zayn motions for him to. “Aren’t you worried someone will recognise you and call the media?” he asks, not sure what else to say.

“My security team is pretty top notch. Plus the hotel gets a…silencing fee I guess you would call it.” Zayn shrugs, looking just as awkward over his notoriety as Harry feels even being here. He stares at Harry for a long, silent minute. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says finally. His cheeks go red and he takes a long pull from his drink after.

Harry feels cagey, ready to bolt given any provocation. When a waiter comes over to ask if he needs anything he jumps. “Water, please. Thank you.”

They’re both silent while they wait for the waiter to get back with Harry’s glass. It’s too awkward, Harry has no clue what to say to break the tension.

“Harry, I just want to say how sorry—”

“Don’t.”

Zayn is silent immediately, looking at Harry with those pleading eyes Harry can never forget.

“I don’t want to hear apologies, honestly. I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to convince himself this is a good idea. “Tell me about your life. How is your family?”

He was never as close to the Malik family as Zayn was to Harry’s mum and Gemma, but he still got to know them pretty well while him and Zayn were secretly dating. The Riach brothers became good friends as well. Harry missed them, when Zayn left, unsure if he was allowed to talk to any of them anymore, so he let that connection go as well.

Zayn’s face lights up, the way it always did when he got to talk about his family. He reaches for his phone, punching in the code and bringing up his photos quickly. “Doniya just started graduate school,” he says, holding out his phone and showing Harry Doniya in what he assumes is her graduation dress. She looks ecstatic, cheeks red. Zayn flicks through a couple of pictures from that day, his mum holding her oldest daughter with tears on her cheeks, Yaser grinning and proud.

“Waliyah is doing A levels next year. She got As in all her courses. We think she’s going to try for Oxford. Safaa is going to a school for arts. She really loves playing the violin, and she’s great at it, too.” He’s so proud, there’s no way to fake the look on his face, the way his voice goes warm and relaxed when he talks about the girls. “Waliyah is going to come on tour with me over the summer as a treat for passing her GCSEs, not that we thought she wouldn’t.” Zayn’s cheeks are red and he’s smiling so wide. 

“Mum and dad are doing well. They’re in the new house we bought and mum tells me it’s too much room, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, but dad says she loves it. She’s got a whole pantry just for spices.”

Zayn continues talking about his mum, how he convinced her not to work anymore, since he could take care of the family, and Harry remembers all the times Zayn told him he wanted to buy a house for his family, how important it was to his mum that she one day have a place of her own. He’s glad they got that, and it sort of surprises him how glad he is. The Maliks were always lovely to him, lovely people in general. They deserve to be happy, to have the things they never had. He doesn’t begrudge them that.

There are countless pictures in Zayn’s phone of his family, all of them smiling together and happy, sometimes with him, but mostly without. Harry wonders if they have to send Zayn memories they have when he’s not there, how lonely that must be. Harry can take any weekend he wants to go see his mum if he’s feeling lonely. To not be able to do that, to have to schedule his family around his career, that must take a toll.

“Caroline, she’s my head of styling, but she’s basically my sister on the road. She had a baby, yeah, her name is Brooklyn, and I’m her godfather. Can you believe that?” Zayn looks down at the picture of the baby on his phone, delight and confusion on his face. “Someone let me be their kid’s godfather.” He flips to a picture of him holding Brooklyn, gazing adoringly down at her face. “She’s perfect. Already knows how to walk and doesn’t want any help doing it. She tours with Caroline, so I get to see her on the road. It’s amazing.”

Harry watches Zayn’s face while he talks, only glances down briefly to look at the pictures. Zayn is so enraptured, caught up in a baby that’s not his, but he loves anyway. Harry hasn’t seen love like that on Zayn’s face in a long time.

“Did you get a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Are you seeing someone right now?” Maybe Zayn looks so excited because he’s going to have that soon, a kid of his own. Zayn would make a great dad, even Harry knows that. Now he’s got all this success, he can afford to dote on it, too, the way he’d want to.

Zayn looks awkwardly down at his phone and shrugs. “No. I dated, a bit, but nothing really worked out. It’s hard having a relationship when the media wants to know every single aspect of it. They can be really intrusive and I hate it.” Harry knows, too, how much privacy means to Zayn.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“What about you? Have you…Niall seems like—”

“It was nice, hearing about your family. Thank you for telling me,” Harry says abruptly, ending that line of questioning. He doesn’t want Zayn to know about the failed dates and the way Harry gave up. 

“Yeah, of course.” Zayn swirls the ice around his empty glass. “Did you want lunch? Maybe we could go to my suit and watch a movie, get some room service?”

It actually sounds nice. Harry is surprised by how much he wants that, to just spend time with Zayn like they used to. But that’s not what he’s here for. He just wanted to prove to Niall that he could change, that he could move on and forgive. But that didn’t mean he had to become friends with Zayn again.

He shakes his head, tries not to read the disappointment on Zayn’s face. “I have to go, actually. Somewhere I have to be. But thank you. This was good, I think.”

Zayn goes back to looking hopeful and Harry doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we can do it again soon?”

“Maybe.”

-

When Harry wakes up Wednesday morning, he realises he’s seen more of Zayn in the past six days than he has in the past five years. It’s sort of disconcerting, to say the least, to know that he’s only a few blocks down the road in a hotel Harry can’t afford to stay at, sitting around and maybe thinking about Harry too.

Zayn shows up at the café Harry’s brought Jane to. She’s got her own bowl of water and she’s sitting by his feet happily, watching people walk by. Harry watches them as well when he’s not distracted by his thoughts. Zayn stands awkwardly beside Harry’s table, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

“Niall told me you would be here. I hope that’s okay?” He’s got a beanie on over his hair and none of his tattoos are showing, so maybe people won’t realise who he is, but Harry can’t understand that. Zayn’s face is so distinct that there’s no way to mistake him for anyone else. Maybe people just see what they want to see.

“It’s okay, you can sit down.” Harry’s been tearing a croissant into tiny pieces, feeding Jane bits every now and then. He can’t seem to keep his fingers still.

Zayn sits, perched at the edge of his seat like he isn’t sure if he’s going to be there for long. Or maybe he’s afraid Harry will banish him. “Nick Grimshaw called me last night,” he says after a quiet minute of petting Jane’s soft ears. “He had a lot to say, him. Didn’t know you two were such close friends.” He sounds cautious, and maybe just the littlest bit jealous.

“We’re not fucking,” Harry says, looking over Zayn’s shoulder at a couple of sparrows fighting over some crumbs. “I know he wanted to, when we met, but we never did. He’s my best friend, but that’s it.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t have to sound so relieved, Harry thinks. “He told me about your…self-imposed isolation, I suppose is how he put it. You’ve never heard any of my music? Or listened to the interviews I’ve done with Nick?”

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t want to watch you from afar. It hurt too much.” Even though he’s nowhere near drunk, as sober as he possibly could be, Harry wants to be truthful. There’s no point in hiding his hand, anymore. He can’t move on if he can’t get over his past, as Niall said.

“That makes sense.” Zayn looks awkward and out of place, like he doesn’t know what to do or say. He doesn’t even have a drink to use as a prop. Harry looks at him, doesn’t look away even though it sort of hurts. “Do you want to go somewhere?” he asks suddenly. 

“Where?”

“A place I haven’t been in a long time.”

It’s probably not a good idea, but Harry finds himself agreeing. They swing by the flat to drop Jane off and they walk side-by-side to the bus stop. Harry is surprised Zayn has a GMT card, since there’s no real reason for him to use the tube or bus when he’s probably got a personal fleet of cars on standby to take him wherever he wants, and he hasn’t properly been in Manchester in years. But he does, and they get onto the 50 towards Salford with no fuss.

Zayn has these huge sunglasses on, which Harry thinks is ridiculous, but might be better for keeping inconspicuous. No one gives them a second look on the bus and they ride for about twenty minutes and Harry watches everyone get on and off, wondering where they’re going to stop. Zayn reaches over him to push the button for the next stop and they get off at Oxford Street.

It starts to dawn on Harry where they’re going when they get to Princess Street. Harry hasn’t been here in years. The last time he went was with Zayn and a few of his uni friends. They stop outside the Manchester Art Gallery and Harry hesitates.

“Is this a good idea? What if you’re recognised?” he asks softly. There doesn’t seem to be such a crowd going in and out, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m supposed to be in London all week, working on promo. There’s no reason I’d be out here. No one is looking for me to be here, so no one will really think it’s me.” Zayn sounds so sure of himself. Harry wonders how many times he’s used that to go places without people bothering him.

There isn’t anyone waiting in a queue to get in, and after Zayn slips a twenty note into the donation box, they head into the gallery proper. A lot has changed in the five years since Harry was last here, but he can’t help but watch Zayn looking at all the differences. There are signs for the temporary exhibits as well as maps for the permanent galleries. Zayn ignores all of them, grabbing Harry’s hand and tugging him to a gallery near the back. Harry is surprised, but doesn’t tug his hand away.

“It’s still here,” Zayn says, sounding surprised and pleased. He stops them in front of a large oil painting. Harry reads _Arthur Hughes, Ophelia, 1852_ on the placard by the painting.

“Is this your favourite?” Harry asks. It’s certainly a lovely painting, but Harry’s definitely seen things he likes better, even just in the quick dash from the front door to here.

Zayn shakes his head. “No, not really. But it’s a great example of the Pre-Raphaelites. It’s not even the most famous _Ophelia_. That’s Millais, after she’s thrown herself into the river. They have a painting of his here, though not that one. But I like this one better. Hughes was only nineteen when he painted it.” He’s studying the details in the painting, really looking over every inch, reading the excerpt from _Hamlet_ inscribed around the painting. 

“I don’t think she went mad,” he says after a while. “She didn’t throw herself into the river because she was mad. She was doing it to reclaim agency. So Hamlet would have to know he couldn’t use her in his games any longer. She took her life away from him.”

Harry looks back at the painting. He read _Hamlet_ for class, of course, but they never got into it as deeply as Zayn has clearly thought about it. He’d never thought about Ophelia feigning madness to escape Hamlet’s plans. He just thought everyone was mad and tragic and then died. Wasn’t that the point of the whole play?

“Sorry, I just get caught up in it,” Zayn says. He seems to notice then that he’s still holding Harry’s hand and he drops it like a hot ember. “Sorry. Let’s go look at the new installations.” He walks away from the _Ophelia_ , wandering around the gallery before heading out of the room.

Harry stays in front of the painting for another few minutes, just taking it in. He follows Zayn quickly after that, not wanting to get separated for long.

-

“You don’t have to pay for dinner,” Harry says. They’re in a nicer restaurant than Harry can typically afford, but he does have savings and he doesn’t like feeling like he owes Zayn.

“Harry. Don’t worry about it. One meal isn’t going to bankrupt me.” Zayn is drinking a glass of wine from the bottle he ordered but Harry hasn’t touched his. He is far too underdressed for a nice restaurant like this. He definitely feels out of place. Zayn looks like he belongs in fancy places no matter how he’s dressed. “Can I ask you about your life?” Zayn asks, fiddling with his cutlery.

Harry sits back in the booth, unsure and awkward and definitely out of place. This feels like a date, the restaurant is certainly dim enough with candles and flowers on most tables, even though it’s only late afternoon. Harry’s pretty sure the hostess recognised Zayn on the spot. They shouldn’t be here, it’s too risky.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Zayn says quickly to fill Harry’s silence. “I know that’s not really…I mean.”

“Do you think it’s strange I stayed here?” Harry asks. He takes a roll from the basket on the table and starts to shred it, wishing Jane was here to feed it to. 

Zayn looks surprised at the question. “I’d wondered, but I wasn’t sure if I could ask.”

Harry shrugs. “I went home for about a while until mum started making noises about me moving back permanently. I’d already missed my exams by then, didn’t really see the point in trying for them. So I went back to Manchester and Mary told me I still had my job, offered me all the hours I wanted. It’s a good place to work, more than I could hope for with just my GCSEs. And Mary is basically retired now, plans to sell the business eventually. I could see myself buying it.” He tries to say everything as dispassionately as possible, unwilling to show Zayn his broken parts. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go but home, and I couldn’t go back there. So I stayed.”

Their food arrives and they both thank the waiter and begin to eat. It’s quiet, somewhat tense like they’re both waiting for the other to say something.

“You could have gone anywhere, done anything,” Zayn finally says, setting his fork down. “You didn’t have to settle for what you had.”

“Not all of us had producers begging us to fly off to America,” Harry snaps. Zayn flinches and the anger in Harry’s chest deflates, escaping him in a rush and just leaving him tired. He wants to change, like he promised Niall, but it’s hard not to break and defend himself with anger. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I mean to say. I’m not—it was your dream. I don’t begrudge you going after your dream, I really don’t.” He sighs and drags his fork through the veg on his plate, watching the patterns the tines create. “I didn’t settle for this place. I have a job I like and friends I love. I’m on my way to being happy.”

Zayn reaches over to touch his hand. “You might not believe me, but I am glad to hear that.”

Harry looks up to say something and snorts. “You’ve got, um. A bit of something there.” He brushes at the side of his own mouth and Zayn mimics him, but only manages to spread the white sauce in his beard. “No, idiot, you’re just making it worse.”

“Where is it?” Zayn has both hands on his chin but he’s just making it worse. Harry actually laughs, feels like it’s being tugged from the bottom of his belly. Zayn’s lips lift up at the corners like he’s trying not to smile and Harry wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. His eyes are shining when he finally uses his napkin to mop up his face. “Did I get it?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

-

It’s not terrible, the next few days. Harry can admit that. Zayn comes over to his flat and they watch telly or cook dinner together. There are some awkward silences and pauses where they have to figure out what to say, but it’s not bad. He even invites Zayn over for lad’s night, held in Liam and Louis’ flat since it’s the biggest. The other lads clearly don’t know how to act, at first, but they take their cues from Harry and they’re all laughing and drinking by the end of the night. Zayn walks Harry home and he’s smiling the whole time even though he won’t tell Harry what he’s so happy about.

They fall back into being _them_ again, somehow. How they were before they ever got married, when all they did was hang out at house parties and drink and talk about the stupidest, most random things. It’s weird and unexpected and maybe a little bit scary, but it’s not bad. Harry actually likes the time they spend together. It was probably what he missed most, when Zayn was busy with uni and work. Being able to just talk to one another about whatever. He just missed having his best friend by his side, and it’s like he’s back again. Just Zayn, sitting next to Harry on the couch, making fun of Ross while they marathon _F.R.I.E.N.D.S._

Harry starts to relax, again. He doesn’t feel like he has to be on guard every minute of the day. When someone knocks on the door, he’s actually excited to answer it and see Zayn standing there with a bottle of cheap wine. When they get stay up too late playing scrabble and trading containers of Chinese, Harry makes up the couch and they both make pancakes the next morning. 

It’s good. It’s really…good.

-

“Cheers!” Niall shouts, clicking his glass against Harry’s far harder than he should, making beer slosh all over their hands. “That’s alright! Drink up!”

Harry laughs and drinks half his pint in one go, not even caring if some of it drips down his chin. “Here’s to a week’s vacation! Gone too soon!” he says.

“Here, here!” Liam clinks his empty glass against Harry’s, then frowns at it in confusion. “Who’s drunk all my drink?”

Laughing, Louis pats him hard on the back. “You snooze you lose, Payno.” He kisses Liam’s cheek when Liam just continues to look confused over his missing drink.

They’ve all had a bit much, maybe. But Niall isn’t working—even if he does go behind the bar to pour their drinks when he wants—and they’re celebrating Harry going back to work and things being alright again.

“Hey! Look who’s here!” Liam points his empty glass at the door. “Zayn! You’ve come! You’re going to celebrate us, right? With us. Celebrate with us!”

Zayn looks far too amused as he walks over to their booth. “What are we celebrating?”

“Harry being happy again!” Niall holds a full mug up to Zayn. “Or Harry going to work, I’m not sure anymore!”

“Both definitely good things,” Zayn says with a laugh. He takes a sip of his drink and looks at Harry over the rim of his glass. “S’okay if I celebrate with you?”

“Free country, innit,” Harry says. He grins and moves over. They’ve got the corner booth so it’s just been him on this side. Zayn sits down next to him, closer than really necessary, but Harry doesn’t say anything. He taps his glass against Zayn’s softly. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Malik! You have to catch up! You’re so far behind!” Liam shouts. He’s got another full pint from somewhere. “We can do shots!”

Niall’s relief bartender, Delia, brings over a tray of shots while Zayn is still trying to protest. It’s good quality tequila, burns Harry’s throat in just the right way before he sucks on the lime. Liam lines three shots up for him and Zayn both and Harry laughs, delighted. Liam is _so_ going to regret it in the morning when he has to go to work.

They both take their shots one right after the other, glasses clinking against one another when they’re done. Liam has a look on his face like he already regrets it. Zayn seems to be handling it a lot better.

Harry laughs along while Louis and Liam and Niall laugh and make a fuss over Liam and his ruby red cheeks. They start singing loudly along to whatever’s been put over the speaker system. There’s a match on the telly that Niall keeps shouting about every now and again, arguing with one of the patrons who’s for the opposing team. 

“You’re gonna get us kicked out!” Louis says, cackling at Niall’s fury over the other team’s goal.

“Can’t kick me out of me own pub!”

“Not yours now is it?”

“As good as!”

They all laugh and bully Niall into getting another round. Zayn nudges at Harry’s side, grinning when Harry turns to look at him.

“Hey,” he says softly under the general ruckus of the other lads.

“Hiya.” 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Zayn’s eyes are twinkling. Harry wonders how he gets them to do that.

“It’s a celebration for me, of course I would be here,” Harry says with a laugh.

“Of course.” He’s slurring just the slightest bit, the shots doing their job. His cheeks have gone a bit pink as well. It won’t be long until he’s sweating at the collar; Zayn always did get overheated when he drank.

Zayn leans forward until his forehead is pressed against Harry’s. “I’m glad I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

They’re so close together that Harry has to keep looking back and forth between his eyes to keep them in focus. “Want to know a secret?” Zayn nods, forehead rubbing against Harry’s. “So am I.”

-

Harry’s back hits the door with a painful thud, knocking the breath out of him. Not that there’s much breath going in with Zayn’s tongue getting in the way in his mouth. Zayn tastes like the shot of whiskey they’d shared before they left the pub and like the fag he’d smoked on the way over. It’s a taste Harry has never forgotten, not completely.

“Keys,” Zayn murmurs against his lips, tongue darting out to trace the path of his words. 

“What?” Harry is distracted chasing after his tongue, trying to get it back in his mouth.

“Need keys to get in, babe.” He’s laughing, little puffs of air against Harry’s mouth. It’s so distracting. He’s distracting.

Zayn puts his hand in Harry’s pocket and before Harry can wonder if they’re going to do this outside, he pulls it back out with Harry’s keys. Harry looks at them for a few seconds and then laughs when he recognises them. He takes them from Zayn, turning around to unlock the door while Zayn plasters up against his back, breathing heavily against his neck.

They stumble into the flat and Harry kicks off his shoes, sheds his jacket on the floor right by the door. He pulls Zayn in by the collar of his bloody leather jacket and kisses him hard, teeth knocking against each other until they work together and kiss properly.

“Gotta get me shoe off,” Zayn says with a laugh. Harry looks down and laughs when he sees one sock-clad foot wiggling at him, the other still in Zayn’s boot. Zayn steps out of his other boot and Harry pulls him across the flat to his bed. He left Jane at the pub with Niall for the night so he doesn’t have to worry about settling her.

He pushes Zayn onto the bed and gets to work on his own jeans and shirt while Zayn watches him with wide eyes. “Gotta catch up,” Harry says with a grin, stepping out of his jeans and snagging his socks with them.

Zayn flails against the sheets while he takes his clothes off, letting Harry see all the secret parts of himself that Harry hasn’t gotten to see in so long. There’s so much more ink than there used to be, all over his chest and down his sides, right arm completely covered and left catching up, dark ink here and there on his legs. The most startling tattoo is the mandala on the back of his left hand going down his wrist, but Harry’s had a while to get used to it.

One thing that hasn’t changed is how good Zayn looks naked, cock already hard and pressed against his stomach. He’s only filled out more since the last time they did this, shoulders so broad and muscles places they weren’t before. He used to shave his bush, but it’s grown out now. He’s so manly, dark hair all over his thighs, making him look so much older. Harry’s mouth waters just looking at him.

“You’re so far away,” Zayn says, laid out on the bed and looking up at him. “And you’ve still got clothes on.” He’s whining, and Harry laughs.

“Impatient.” 

Harry pushes down his briefs, only paused to take a good look at Zayn because he couldn’t help himself. He climbs up the bed between Zayn’s legs, holds himself over Zayn’s body and just looks at Zayn’s face. His cheeks are red, probably a mix from the drinks and the cold on the walk over and how aroused he is.

“For good reason,” Zayn says, sneaking his fingers up over Harry’s hips, dragging them up his sides and making him shiver. “Look at you,” he whispers. “Gorgeous.”

“Coming from you,” Harry says with a laugh.

Zayn puts both his hands on Harry’s cheeks, cupping them and holding carefully. “Because it’s true,” he says earnestly, seriously. His eyes are so serious, looking into Harry’s. “You’re so beautiful.”

Harry cheeks burn, and he knows it’s spreading down his throat and chest. He wants this so much. “Want you to fuck me,” he whispers. Zayn sucks in a sharp breath, surprised.

“You want that?” Harry nods, curls getting into his eyes. Zayn brushes them away with his thumbs. “I really want to.”

“You can.” Harry pulls away and reaches over to the bedside table, getting out his lube. He has to hunt for a condom; he hasn’t needed one in ages. There’s one in the back that hasn’t expired so he grabs it triumphantly.

Zayn moves when Harry leans back and somehow Harry is on his back, looking up at Zayn. He’s never been that smooth, it’s surprising. He takes the lube from Harry’s hand puts the condom on the bed by Harry’s hip.

“Have you done this recently?”

Harry shakes his head.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” Zayn flips the cap up with a soft pop and squeezes lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up. He keeps his eyes on his task, but he looks up at Harry. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

The lube isn’t cold, but it still startles Harry when Zayn moves his fingers between Harry’s legs, fisting his cock and sliding up and down slowly for a few strokes. Harry’s already hard and dripping and it just adds to the slide. Zayn watches his hand on Harry’s cock and he looks fascinated. Harry moves his hips up to meet Zayn’s grasp. It feels so good. Harry hasn’t had a hand other than his own on his cock in ages.

Zayn lets go far too soon, fingers moving lower. Harry spreads his legs, scooting down the bed so Zayn can get where he needs. He rubs one finger over Harry’s hole, just touching him there until Harry relaxes into it. Harry shuts his eyes when Zayn slides his finger in, concentrating on the feel instead of the discomfort. He hasn’t even used his own fingers in so long that it’s a bit uncomfortable, but Zayn is slow. He just uses one finger for a long time, uncapping the lube to pour more on and chuckling when Harry jumps at the cold.

“Gonna use another,” Zayn says softly before he pushes in a second finger next to the first. It’s an easy slide and Harry relaxes into it almost immediately. His body is already tuning itself back to Zayn’s touches, knows exactly how to react to him even after all this time. “There you go.” 

Harry fucks back into Zayn’s fingers, keeping his eyes closed and humming out a note of pleasure. It feels good; Zayn knows exactly what he’s doing. He spreads his fingers, stretching Harry out and it sends a sharp jolt up Harry’s nerves but it doesn’t hurt. 

“One more.”

The third finger makes Harry feel full and it tries to hurt, but Zayn uses his other hand to start jerking Harry off again, so the pain never comes. Zayn’s middle finger brushes against Harry’s prostate and Harry cries out, hips lifting off the bed.

“I’m ready,” Harry says, finally opening his eyes and looking at Zayn. “I want you to fuck me.”

Zayn curses and bites his bottom lip sharply. Harry knows that’s how he keeps focused during sex, he’s always done it. He’s careful when he pulls his fingers out but Harry still makes a low, regretful noise at the emptiness he leaves behind.

The condom packet gives him trouble with his slick fingers, so Harry takes it from him, opens it and rolls it down Zayn’s cock, going slow so he can really feel the weight of him in his hand. He holds his hand open when Zayn opens the lube and they both watch as he pours it out. Harry smoothes the lube up and down Zayn’s cock, fascinated.

“If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to do what you want,” Zayn says, voice trembling. Harry lets him go immediately and Zayn gets into position between Harry’s legs. He grabs Harry’s left leg and puts it up over his shoulder and Harry feels so open in this position. “Ready?”

Harry nods. “Ready.”

Zayn goes slowly, guiding his cock with his free hand. He presses in, cock thick and hot and perfect, splitting Harry open fully. Harry’s toes curl at how much it is, how good, even if it hurts a little bit. Zayn stops once he’s all the way in, letting Harry adjust

“Move, please,” Harry says, knocking his knee against Zayn’s head. His erection hasn’t flagged at all, even with the mild discomfort, and he hisses out a satisfied breath when he gets his hand around it.

Zayn does what he’s asked, pulling back carefully before thrusting back in. He’s so careful about it, but Harry can feel his muscles trembling, like he’s holding back.

“I’m not fragile.” Harry clenches down around Zayn’s cock and they both gasp. “Don’t treat me like I can’t take it.” He holds Zayn’s gaze for a moment before Zayn nods and picks up his pace.

It feels so much better somehow when Zayn is fucking him properly, as hard and fast as Harry really wants it. Zayn wraps his arm around Harry’s leg for leverage, but uses his other to knock Harry’s hand away from his cock. Zayn grips him instead, jerking him off hard, thumbnail rubbing across the slit the way Harry loves. It hurts, a bit, but it makes his cock twitch and blurt precome all over Zayn’s fingers.

“I’m gonna come soon,” Harry says. “You gotta stop or I’ll come too quickly.”

“It’s okay,” Zayn tells him. He shifts and angles his hips up so that when he fucks in, he’s jabbing at Harry’s prostate, sending jolts of pleasure up his body. “You can, I want you to. Want to watch you come.”

“Fuck.” Harry scrabbles at the sheets, trying to get a grip but his hands are too sweaty, so he lifts his arms to grasp onto Zayn’s shoulders, sinks his nails in until Zayn hisses.

Harry’s orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut. He clenches down around Zayn, back bowing as he comes over Zayn’s fingers. It feels like he comes so long, like it’s never going to stop, and Zayn keeps fucking him through it, keeps jerking him off until it’s too much.

Zayn eases Harry’s leg down before it starts cramping, rubs over Harry’s stomach while Harry comes down. He’s quivering, muscles tight from how much he wants, but he’s making sure Harry’s okay first.

“Come on my face,” Harry blurts out, still feeling orgasm stupid. 

“What?” Zayn asks, staring at him with wide eyes.

Harry licks his bottom lip slowly, watching Zayn watch it. “I want you to,” he whispers.

They move until Zayn is straddling Harry’s chest, knees under Harry’s armpits. Harry keeps his hands on Zayn’s hips and watches as Zayn rolls the condom down and throws it off the side of the bed. He’s so close Harry can smell him, can practically taste him on the air. Zayn wraps his hand around his cock, jerking off furiously. Harry watches the wet, red head push through his fingers and his mouth drops open before he can think. 

“Fuck.” Zayn hunches over, arm moving so fast it’s practically a blur. He starts to come and Harry shuts his eyes, tongue poked out. Harry tries not to flinch when it hits his cheeks and mouth. “Fuck, Harry,” Zayn curses, breathless.

Harry opens his eyes and looks up at him. Zayn looks stunned, eyes still wide. He reaches out and smears the come on Harry’s mouth, wipes it over his cheeks. Harry catches his thumb in his mouth, sucks hard while Zayn’s lashes flutter. 

“God.” He sounds so ragged, fucked over even though Harry was the one who got fucked. Zayn rolls over onto the bed, careful not to hit Harry with his legs. His face is half-pressed into the sheets but he still opens his eyes to look at Harry. “You’re amazing.”

Harry grabs the top sheet from the bottom of the bed, pulls it up over them even though they should get cleaned up. Harry wipes his face off with his pillow and then flips it over so he can sleep on the clean side. Zayn huffs out a laugh and they curve together.

“Will you be here in the morning?” he asks softly.

Zayn reaches out, rubs his thumb across the jut of Harry’s cheekbone. He’s smiling. “Of course I’ll be here. I promise.”

Harry closes his eyes and falls asleep quickly, the ghost of Zayn’s warm touch following him into dreams.

-

The alarm feels like needles being driven into Harry’s brain. He flails an arm out to hit it and turn it off. There’s no way he can go to work, he’s more likely to vomit into the dough than bake it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll call Mary and tell her I can’t make it in.”

There’s no reply, but Harry wasn’t exactly expecting one. Zayn’s always slept like the dead. He’s just as hard to wake up. Harry stretches in place, yawning hugely. His body is sore but surprisingly relaxed. He really did need a good shag.

Harry sits up and looks at the side of the bed and freezes. It’s empty. He runs his hand across the sheets but they’re cold, like Zayn hasn’t been there long enough for the sheets to lose his body heat.

“Zayn?” Harry asks out loud. The door to the bathroom is open and the light is off. He gets up and goes to the living room, but Zayn’s not there. None of his clothes are where they landed last night, and his boots are gone. Harry sits down on the couch, mind a complete blank.

Zayn wasn’t there. He’d promised, said he’d be there when Harry woke up. But he wasn’t.

He feels numb when he gets up and gets dressed, moving on muscle memory alone. He isn’t thinking when he grabs the legal packet he’d shoved in the cabinet, away from where he could see it every day.

He signs the annulment papers and his hands don’t even shake once.

-

“Cor, who’s at the door this early, better be a fuckin’ national emergency,” Niall says as he opens the door. He wipes his face and squints and he looks genuinely surprised when he realises it’s Harry stood on his doorstep. “Harry? What’re you doin’ here so early? Figured you’d pick Jane up after work…Harry?”

Harry feels the tears well up and drip down his face, doesn’t even try to stop them. He doesn’t know if he could. This is what heartbreak feels like, he knows. He’s intimately familiar with it. He just can’t believe he let it happen again.

-

The room is dark because Niall is a saint. He pulled all the blinds and turned off all the lights and even let Harry have his favourite blanket, the one his Nan knitted for him for his last birthday. Harry has Jane in his arms sleeping peacefully, happy now he’s back. He’s stopped crying, thankfully and is just lying on the couch, not thinking about anything.

Niall runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, touching him gently. “Your phone’s ringing, babe,” he says softly. 

“Who’s it?” Harry croaks out. 

“Zayn.”

“No.”

“Harry—”

Harry closes his eyes. “I said no, Niall. I don’t ever want to speak to him again.” 

Niall is quiet for a while. “Okay, then. You don’t have to.” He leaves Harry alone, then, goes to the other room. Harry can hear him talking quietly, but he keeps his eyes shut and refuses to listen.

“I called Mary,” Niall says later, sounding exhausted. Harry feels guilty; he’s kept Niall up after him probably not getting a lot of sleep. “She said not to worry about today. She’ll call tomorrow and see how you feel.”

“Thanks.” Harry bites his lip when Niall doesn’t say anything in return for a long time. 

Finally, he heaves a great sigh. “Come to bed, then. No sense in us both staying up, and my bed’s more comfortable than the couch. Bring my dog, too.”

Harry doesn’t even argue with him as he follows Niall to his bedroom.

-

Nick finally convinces Harry to come to London after a few weeks worth of pleading phone calls, emoji-filled text messages and the underhanded tactic of crying to Mary. He’s here for a long weekend full of booze, baking shows and absolutely no talk of boys. Harry made Nick promise him before he agreed to catch the train down.

So far he’s been made to wait in Nick’s flat while Nick goes out for some planned event. It feels like Nick is always at meetings when he’s meant to be spending time with Harry, eating loads of food and talking about how lovely Sue Perkins is. Nick’s supposed to tell Harry about the time he met her.

Jane’s at home with Niall and he’s got Pig snoring happily in his lap. Her heavy breathing is calming. He’s just about to give in and start watching the programme on his own when Nick bursts through the door, tablet in hand. Nick can’t ever seem to walk calmly into a room when Harry’s in it.

“Nick, good, I was just about to start—”

“Harry, I’ve got something I need you to read.” He holds out his tablet and Harry takes it, curious.

“What is it?” He looks at the headline, sees Zayn’s picture staring back at him, and almost throws the damn thing. “Nick, what the fuck? Why on earth do you think I’d ever read this?” he asks. He’s trying not to sound betrayed, even though he feels it.

Nick pushes the tablet into Harry’s hand. “I know. But you need to read it. I need you to read it.” He looks so serious, eyes so wide and worried that Harry has to take a breath, shoulders coming down from around his ears.

He looks back down at the tablet and starts to read.

**“It was the biggest mistake of my life” Zayn Malik on his life before fame and the biggest secret this industry has _ever_ seen**

Jim Crowley, 27 June 2015 08:51 AM

When the management team of Zayn Malik approached our paper about an exclusive tell-all article, we were a bit sceptical. Malik, 22, is a well-known social recluse. The most in-depth he gets is rehashing facts we all know from his official biography. But we took the opportunity to sit down with the R&B superstar, since even just mentioning his name guarantees a rise in readership. That may sound cynical of us, but we’ve been around a long time, and we know all the trends. 

Malik dropped by our offices and I was immediately taken aback by how tired he looked. Gone were the artfully sculpted topknot and the micromanaged beard. Instead, Malik sported deep bags under his eyes and he looked as if he’d not had a decent meal in ages. 

We talk about the usual things, how Malik’s dog is doing, whether or not he was happy with the promotional tour his team was doing for his second album, _badlands_. Finally, I said what we were both dancing around. 

**GQ: We were fairly surprised when you requested this interview, since you’re typically not one to approach the media.**  
**Zayn:** My management team actually isn’t too pleased I brought this up. 

**GQ: No? They were the ones who contacted us.**  
**Zayn:** I practically forced them. 

**GQ: What’s going on? Are you announcing your retirement from music or something?**  
**Zayn:** No, but it is something that’s long overdue. When I was 18, I married my best friend. We’d been dating over a year and after we got married and we were together for about six months before I asked for an annulment. 

**GQ: Wow. We certainly weren’t expecting that.**  
**Zayn:** It’s not something I’ve ever admitted to anyone since I signed my contract. My management team thought it was better if I kept that part of my past behind me and focused on the future of my career. 

**GQ: Are we allowed to discuss the details of the annulment?**  
**Zayn:** I don’t have any desire to discuss my ex-husband’s name or any of his personal details. It’s not fair of me to put him in the public’s eye. He doesn’t even know I’m publishing this article. But you can ask what you want and I’ll answer to the best of my ability. 

**GQ: How did you meet?**  
**Zayn:** At a party of one of my mates. He knew him through some school friends and we met there. Hit it off almost immediately. He lived kind of far from me, but we always made the effort to see one another. I fell in love with him and I thought I could never be without him. 

**GQ: So your tattoo really is a wedding ring?**  
**Zayn:** Yeah. I couldn’t afford real rings and the tattoo shop did it for a tenner. I told him I’d buy him a proper ring, since I was the one who asked, but by the time I could afford it, it was too late. 

**GQ: What happened?**  
**Zayn: He wasn’t 18 when we married, so we used the Romeo and Juliet law. I knew I could ask for an annulment and we’d be allowed to as long as it was within the year’s timeframe.**

**GQ: Did you fall out of love?**  
**Zayn:** No. I realised I was being selfish. I was making him miserable. We hadn’t properly seen each other in months and every time we tried, we kept missing one another. I didn’t know if I was even going to make it and I couldn’t ask him to stay while I went to America to record. There was no guarantee I would become anyone and I didn’t want to risk it going over the year and him being trapped or having to go through actual divorce proceedings. I thought it would be better if we broke it off while we still could. 

**GQ: And he agreed?**  
**Zayn:** Yeah. But he didn’t want to, I know that now. We never had a proper conversation about it before I left and by the time I had finished recording my album and releasing it, I was too afraid to contact him. I thought he must hate me. He must be moving on with his life and finding someone else to love him properly. 

**GQ: So you’ve spoken recently?**  
**Zayn:** Yeah, we. I got to see him, actually. I realised that I hadn’t done the right thing at all. I was an idiot. It was the biggest mistake of my life. 

**GQ: Does your family know about all this?**  
**Zayn:** Not until recently. I called my mum before I even asked my team about setting this up. Told her what had happened. They already know I’m bi, have supported me in who I wanted to love since I told them. But I was so ashamed of keeping this secret from them. They just thought he was my best mate. But I didn’t want to tell the world before I told them. I don’t function like that. 

**GQ: Do you still love him?**  
**Zayn:** I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him, honestly. Your first great love, y’know? It stays with you forever. 

**GQ: Do you think he still loves you?**  
**Zayn:** No. I think he hates me, and he has every right to. I can never apologise enough for what I did. I ruined something that was good, because I was too scared of how hard it was to try and make it work. He was there for me. He supported me in every single thing that I did. I was the one who fucked it all up. I can’t even ask his forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. 

**GQ: Do you think he’ll read this and change his mind?**  
**Zayn:** No, he stays pretty out of touch with the media; I doubt he’ll even see this, honestly. But I didn’t do this to try to force him to forgive me. I know I can’t do that, that’s not how it works. I just thought it was time I stopped lying to the world about the one person that ever really mattered to me. It isn’t fair that he was forced to be a secret. 

Malik leaves our offices looking like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He’s been keeping this hidden for over five years. It’s almost unimaginable what kind of stress that put on him, what kind of relief it must be now that the secret is out. We’re truly honoured that he chose us to share this with, and we hope he and his former partner can move on with their lives and find some modicum of happiness.

Harry doesn’t realise he’s breathing funny when Nick takes the tablet from his hand and puts it aside. He’s sat on the coffee table in front of Harry, even though Harry knows Nick hates when people sit or put their feet up on it.

“You have to breathe,” Nick says slowly, putting his hands on Harry’s hands, squeezing them tight. Harry breathes with him, even though it’s hard and his chest hurts and he feels so dizzy he could pass out.

“He told them,” he wheezes, throat still tight.

Nick nods. “He did. I know.”

“Why did he tell them?” Harry asks. His eyes go blurry from tears that he’s so tired of crying. “He hates telling strangers personal things. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, duck.” Nick looks so sad.

Harry sobs, falling into the arms Nick already has opened for him. It hurts. Everything hurts. His heart won’t stop breaking and he just wants _Zayn_ He just wants his fucking husband back. Harry is so tired of being alone, being thrown away. It’s not _fair_.

Nick moves to the couch and gathers him tight, lets him cry and snot up his shirt, even though it’s expensive and Harry knows how much Nick loves his clothing. He just can’t stop crying, but Nick just holds him, murmuring soothing words and noises into Harry’s curls. Pig wiggles her way between them, whining and licking at Harry’s face, obviously worried. 

He passes out like that, buried in Nick’s embrace.

-

When Harry wakes up, he’s not on the couch anymore. He recognises Nick’s bedroom, the pictures on the walls. Pig is buried under the covers at his side still snoring, leg twitching in sleep. Harry sits up and wipes at his eyes. They still feel raw from all the crying. He’s sure he looks a right mess.

“Get it together, Styles,” he says, smacking his cheeks lightly. He’s had his day of moping. Now he has to get up and be a person again. Maybe he’ll make Nick a proper fry up for breakfast, to apologise for crying himself silly last night.

The telly is on, playing one of the baking programmes Nick has recorded for them to watch together and Harry is sort of miffed Nick’s watching it without him. He turns to scold Nick, but freezes when he sees who’s on the sofa instead.

Harry is so tired of his body reacting to Zayn in ways he doesn’t want it to. He’s tired of his heart lurching when he sees Zayn.

Zayn sees him in the doorway of the living room and Harry gets a good look at him. He does look dreadful, like the article said. He tries to repress the vindictive little voice that says _good_ in his mind, because there’s nothing good about this situation.

“Nick invited me over,” Zayn says. His voice sounds as rusty as he looks. “He thought we should talk. Said you read the article last night and were upset.”

Harry stays silent. He doesn’t want to say anything to Zayn, doesn’t want to encourage him. He’s too heart-sick to go through this again.

“I just wanted to say. I didn’t file them. The papers. I know that wasn’t my place or my right, but I wanted you to know how I felt before I filed them. Just in case you, y’know. Felt the same way.”

“You left,” Harry whispers. It’s the only thing he can say, the only thing running through his mind after Zayn’s confession.

Zayn looks away and bites his chapped bottom lip. “I know. I was wrong. I freaked up when I woke up, because I still have feelings for you. I always have. I didn’t know if us hooking up was a drunken mistake for you. Or if it was some sort of goodbye. I was scared. I kept thinking about what would happen if you woke up and regretted it in the morning. So I left.” 

He takes a deep breath and looks back at Harry. “I came back and the papers were in the post box and you weren’t answering your door, I couldn’t get you on the phone. I called Niall but he wouldn’t tell me anything. I got a call from my team telling me I had to go back to London. I’d been gone too long. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t _find_ you. So I had to go.

“I had a huge fight with my management team. They wanted to know what I thought I was doing, being in Manchester for so long. They didn’t want me coming in the first place, wanted to send someone to deliver the papers to you and get it all done the same day. I had to convince them it couldn’t be anyone other than me. It wasn’t right for some person to just show up and tell you what happened, it had to be me.

“They were mad because I was supposed to be in the middle of my press tour, but I didn’t care. I needed to see you, Harry. I missed you so _much_. I thought if I could see you one last time, I could finally move on. And then everything happened, and I fucked up so badly. I fought with my PR team about the article, but I wouldn’t let them stop me. I pushed it through because I _needed_ you to know.”

Zayn’s eyes are wide, glassy from the tears sliding down his cheeks. His voice is shaking so badly. “I needed you to know how much I fucking love you, Harry. I’ve always loved you. I think I always will.”

“You’re so stupid,” Harry says. He feels like there’s a lump in his throat, but he refuses to cry, not anymore. Zayn looks devastated, but he nods, accepting. “I love you. I never stopped fucking loving you.”

“You. What?” Zayn stands up, searching Harry’s face. 

He closes the distance between them and Harry hits him in the chest but not as hard as he wants. Zayn doesn’t even make a pained noise. “I hate you, you bastard. You keep breaking my fucking heart,” Harry says, still hitting Zayn weakly. 

Zayn grabs his hand, holds on so tight it hurts. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Harry puts his head down on Zayn’s shoulder, doesn’t feel strength enough to keep it up anymore, and Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, drawing them closer together. “You’ll have to say sorry every day for the rest of your life.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

-

**Zayn Malik seen out and about with long-time baker boyfriend Harry Styles!**

14 January 2018 12:48pm

Zayn Malik and his boyfriend Harry Styles were spotted walking hand-in-hand while stopping into trendy Notting Hill stores this morning. Both were bundled up to keep the cold out and they even had a sweater for their dog, Jane. An inside source says the two were shopping for decorations for the new Primrose Hill flat Zayn bought for the two of them a few houses down from Harry’s mate Nick Grimshaw. 

“Zayn has been so busy recording for the third album that they haven’t had very much time to just be together. So he told his management team he would be taking every Sunday off to go home and be with his boyfriend. Seeing as how he’s their biggest act right now, of course they couldn’t deny his request,” our insider tells us. 

Zayn and Harry have been publicly dating since late-2015 after Zayn published an article about their past relationship and breakup. Harry recently opened his second shop in London to be closer to Zayn’s home base. We wouldn’t be surprised to hear wedding bells in the air again sometime soon!


End file.
